tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69793255184769084262024-03-17T10:09:35.342-07:00James Howell's Weekly Preaching NotionsJames C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.comBlogger380125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-69528606227721823732024-01-01T02:43:00.000-08:002024-01-04T17:07:13.155-08:00What can we say March 24? Palm Sunday<p> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">For years in worship planning, my staff will
ask “Are we doing Palm Sunday? Or Passion Sunday?” My reply is always “Yes.” Is
there really a choice? There’s a tragic dimension to the Palms entry, no matter
how cute or fun we try to make it. Jesus comes surrounded by great joy but into
the teeth of mortal danger; he comes to tackle the powers, and to be killed by
them. And there’s a joyful dimension, paradoxically enough, to the Passion.
Gruesome, horrific, unjust suffering, transformed by the miraculous way of God
into immense life, light, joy.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Psalm 118</b> could be preached upon. Even if not, its cadences
are well worth mentioning, or even deploying as a call to worship. It’s about a
royal victory in ancient times. “This is the day the Lord has made” doesn’t
mean Oh, God made a pretty day for me to enjoy, but “This is the day the Lord
has acted,” brought deliverance, re-established his people once peril was
eluded. “The stone which the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.” Did
Jesus or any of his friends ponder this as he rode right by the huge ashlars of
Herod’s temple mount?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> And <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Philippians 2:5-11</b> fits the day
marvelously as well. I love the little translation quandary that needn’t be
resolved but simply pondered: is it “although he was in the form of God, he
humbled himself to death on a cross”? or should it be “because he was in the
form of God, he…” I lean “because.” Jesus wasn’t pretending to be what he
wasn’t, or what God isn’t. Precisely in his humility, in his shattered heart
and body do we see the truth about God.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So Palm Sunday, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mark 11</b>. Stanley Hauerwas is right: "Jesus's triumphant entry
into Jerusalem is an unmistakable political act." The crowd does not yet
know, and may never understand, that "this king triumphs not through
violent revolt, but by being for Israel the one able to show it that its
worship of God is its freedom." His action is "a refusal to let Rome
determine what counts and doesn't count as politics." Well-said, daunting
to explicate in a sermon though, with hearers mired on old-timey Americanish
notions about what politics is and what religion (to them, very different) is.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEdSBo_AjCe0-2l7b62XUXRjPfCPXs57qdVZiTGonUXqR46TFE3ru8fedwoXK-cAWZUxG17NKFpgqpOrac2sCYZZ5WwnXkA4-hAiEv_Zr-V3an7vk0XryalUCmz8nuyGXrW5cIR_ClWopZAziBu8SxJg7U_667wJkgeY1MVsRz7yo1IWxhrfxmlH0L70/s700/Bucephalus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="700" data-original-width="700" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEdSBo_AjCe0-2l7b62XUXRjPfCPXs57qdVZiTGonUXqR46TFE3ru8fedwoXK-cAWZUxG17NKFpgqpOrac2sCYZZ5WwnXkA4-hAiEv_Zr-V3an7vk0XryalUCmz8nuyGXrW5cIR_ClWopZAziBu8SxJg7U_667wJkgeY1MVsRz7yo1IWxhrfxmlH0L70/s320/Bucephalus.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> Subversive, crazed politics though. A king
on a little donkey, not a war stallion like Bucephalus (Alexander the Great’s
mount) – a borrowed donkey at that. Those following weren’t armed or rich or
influential. Dreamers. Martin Luther noticed Jesus road on “an animal of peace
fit only for burden and labor. He indicates by this that he comes not to
frighten anyone, nor to drive or crush anyone, but to help him and carry his
burdens.”<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Pretty
courageous, especially since Pilate had just marched his legions from Caesarea
on the coast to Jerusalem to intimidate, to secure the city overcrowded at
Passover. His stomping regiments, with arms clattering and banners waving high,
heading east into the city could not have found a greater contrast that Jesus,
donkey hooves clomping on the stone, children holding leafy branches in the
air, heading west into the city. The perpetual clash of good and evil coming to
its climax.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTAu3PZW8PI9QVroLbpDnLAFJg3p6GILrDONxDgVWR_v2rdPQM3w6p25Hjmo7ULFURXAXlqiRiC7B1uAEEt0wrb9OmqHaZr9e46TI43h-6as2epNa9GTscfRx53GZ7sKuA3kQ5rhTqmvBtkaDoeyLG3fiwBk4kOURb59xOe9rkDtpTeiqUprq5a1aHpNI/s722/JXSHeysanna.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="460" data-original-width="722" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTAu3PZW8PI9QVroLbpDnLAFJg3p6GILrDONxDgVWR_v2rdPQM3w6p25Hjmo7ULFURXAXlqiRiC7B1uAEEt0wrb9OmqHaZr9e46TI43h-6as2epNa9GTscfRx53GZ7sKuA3kQ5rhTqmvBtkaDoeyLG3fiwBk4kOURb59xOe9rkDtpTeiqUprq5a1aHpNI/s320/JXSHeysanna.PNG" width="320" /></a></div> Hard
to beat the wisdom inside <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jesus
Christ Superstar</i>'s "Hosanna Heysanna..." with the crowd's
escalating appeals to Jesus: Won't you smile for me? Won't you fight for me?
Won't you die for me? I lucked into a podcast (my "<a href="https://cltbeautiful.libsyn.com/behind-the-lyrics-with-tim-rice">Maybe
I'm Amazed</a>") conversation with Tim Rice, who wrote these and all the
words for that splendid musical! Lots of insight in there for Holy Week! For
Palm Sunday, we feel the jubilation, and yet the painful ironies, the dawning
realization on them, and us, of impending doom and what's at stake.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> The
shout “Hosanna!” isn’t cheering in church, but a prayer, a cry for help meaning
“Save us now!” Mark alludes to the obscure Zechariah – who had given up on
human rulers and prophesied that “On that day the Lord God will save them… Lo
your king comes humble and riding on a donkey.” What foolish person would draw
attention in such a meek, easily-mocked way? There is some mystery afoot here.
And we begin to understand that Jesus never protects his own dignity, but is
ready to fling it aside to love anybody.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgiaizNP9zg6fs3fYUKflXauhkQZkkU5bGKkuul_IFKC-DnGGkovnaChrLsoepIaimbSbcJ0l6CfcONMPW35z3SFNL_ijohAdi26FFsuOruj9oOZLiaJa3d36o21zL3GJrjgSCCZt3IDK_6BY5nc7Z4oAHpJIWXSBXxHTP-3in_aZf8_x5rJayQiXvlq0/s249/cimabue%20(2).PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="249" data-original-width="217" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgiaizNP9zg6fs3fYUKflXauhkQZkkU5bGKkuul_IFKC-DnGGkovnaChrLsoepIaimbSbcJ0l6CfcONMPW35z3SFNL_ijohAdi26FFsuOruj9oOZLiaJa3d36o21zL3GJrjgSCCZt3IDK_6BY5nc7Z4oAHpJIWXSBXxHTP-3in_aZf8_x5rJayQiXvlq0/s1600/cimabue%20(2).PNG" width="217" /></a></div> Imitating Jesus, St. Francis of
Assisi strode directly into the jaws of danger. Joining the Crusaders in the
battle of Damietta in 1219, he walked across No Man’s Land between the heavily
armed Christians and the saber-rattling Muslims – unarmed, barefooted. He was
so pitiful that, instead of butchering him, the soldiers hauled him to the
sultan, Malik al-Kamil. Francis spent three days with him, befriending him, and
bought peace in that region. Well, for a brief time.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> What
is the homiletical takeaway? Go thou and so likewise? Hardly. We simply find
ourselves in the crowd, excited yet with the hunch that a week of agony for
this holy one is beginning. Just before Lent we observed the Transfiguration.
No takeaway there. The disciples fell on their faces in awe. I dream of the
sermon that has no moral, no lesson, but simply causes all of us to say Wow,
Jesus is amazing, so courageous, so humble, so loving, so bold, so holy, so
divine. That’s really enough, isn’t it?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJS6FqDbF-jzTi0M8vGXVCeUOe6HhhH-bZ2bKexPobbTbpKXm9Q7adBq1m_2YymTl2Z6CEa-beGTLL8vfG5IE8Y9WKC5Xx5I6Lk3xOu8y47KNuGvtJ9q4a4JJ9ZE4xQ5yIxu_trKVuoX2mF_kcIP6IXRHzJSQY6ragDIy7SAIh-by3RfFG8jq06Xbb1M/s400/JeffreyLuke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="266" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDJS6FqDbF-jzTi0M8vGXVCeUOe6HhhH-bZ2bKexPobbTbpKXm9Q7adBq1m_2YymTl2Z6CEa-beGTLL8vfG5IE8Y9WKC5Xx5I6Lk3xOu8y47KNuGvtJ9q4a4JJ9ZE4xQ5yIxu_trKVuoX2mF_kcIP6IXRHzJSQY6ragDIy7SAIh-by3RfFG8jq06Xbb1M/s320/JeffreyLuke.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> David Lyle Jeffrey reminds us that this
colt is untrained, undomesticated, never ridden – and so we’d expect such a
creature to be difficult to mount or to stay on task. Instead, he’s docile,
cooperative – even amid all the clamor, racket, flapping cloaks and branches.
He doesn’t buck, but carried his load beautifully. Luke does linger over the
disciples securing this creature. “The Lord has need of it.” It’s thin, and a
tad corny, but the preacher isn’t off target to ask “What do we have tied up
that the Lord has need of, and could put to lovely use?”<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Who
was in the crowd? Had formerly blind Bartimaeus followed him from Jericho? Mary
Magdalene surely was there. What about James, Jesus’ brother – who could well
have accompanied Jesus’ mother to the triumphant but hauntingly ominous scene.
Howard Thurman thoughtfully includes Mary in his pondering on Palm Sunday:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4_W14OEOdEcJjyanMZHIYp7riMew3hpHrZr-VKzlcEn4k3FO1diYXHi5a9wR5MluhMj12gmH3ZUmSEuutNdM5bPCnuUCJHk_FCEODCX_rFpsRt4cJkyGBFzXU7cTBjZL9N8wgnujzA7MifTxO_PsEGw4n-XvkahWzdGrb3gsOSvUdNrIOVQWlIwxF4tA/s2895/HowardThurman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2895" data-original-width="2000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4_W14OEOdEcJjyanMZHIYp7riMew3hpHrZr-VKzlcEn4k3FO1diYXHi5a9wR5MluhMj12gmH3ZUmSEuutNdM5bPCnuUCJHk_FCEODCX_rFpsRt4cJkyGBFzXU7cTBjZL9N8wgnujzA7MifTxO_PsEGw4n-XvkahWzdGrb3gsOSvUdNrIOVQWlIwxF4tA/s320/HowardThurman.jpg" width="221" /></a></div> “I
wonder what was at work in the mind of Jesus of Nazareth as he jogged along on
the back of that faithful donkey. Perhaps his mind was far away to the scenes
of his childhood, feeling the sawdust between his toes in his father’s shop. He
may have been remembering the high holy days in the synagogue with his whole
body quickened by the echo of the ram’s horn. Or perhaps he was thinking of his
mother, how deeply he loved her and how he wished that there had not been laid
upon him this Great Necessity that sent him out on to the open road to proclaim
the Truth, leaving her side forever. It may be that he lived all over again
that high moment on the Sabbath when he was handed the scroll and he unrolled
it to the great passage from Isaiah, ‘The spirit of the Lord is upon me to
preach good news to the poor.’ I wonder what was moving through the mind of the
Master as he jogged along on the back of that faithful donkey.”<o:p></o:p><p></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-11524698943069193672024-01-01T02:41:00.000-08:002024-01-04T17:07:34.081-08:00What can we say Maundy Thursday?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYk5yLq67hXg6GBVqs130TE0oXqC7dYLLXH8FWX73kagryPVOTueRnwTIJcuudYN6nIL8R13b61RqNcJYxlVtWrKKimj9GaTjccphZUrGtKVrhMPnN1tElZs91AQtwTsdZsZYo6-T9vFh79Q5uD19_WkzdKHwUYua9jE41Ycp1ub9ylXsylAHTlqjQ/s800/3.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="482" data-original-width="800" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYk5yLq67hXg6GBVqs130TE0oXqC7dYLLXH8FWX73kagryPVOTueRnwTIJcuudYN6nIL8R13b61RqNcJYxlVtWrKKimj9GaTjccphZUrGtKVrhMPnN1tElZs91AQtwTsdZsZYo6-T9vFh79Q5uD19_WkzdKHwUYua9jE41Ycp1ub9ylXsylAHTlqjQ/s320/3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> Maundy Thursday, one of our holiest 4 nights all year. I can’t preach long at
all, for they come, not for a sermon, but for a tangible experience, a real
bodily encounter. A little bread. A little wine.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The footwashing in John 13 is so easy to
flatten: Jesus served humbly, so go and serve others humbly (like Pope Francis washing
the feet of women, and Muslims!). Since we talk service all year long anyhow, I
wonder how on this night to fixate more on Jesus, his remarkable encounter with
confused people – and thus with us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhXVnl9ou-JHWrd2YYmQESMeXbf57pL2j3Zwf6DdLCjjxZMhJHyKSvQbnpjebiCTeS1vlVa3XjV7OTTdjE-R9eic_LkM6uGQdeoyt5_4-ZkeyOwTqR0cO4mFjZ_3cNIOvOY3v5DFfPdqAd_YoiXCNhVjBGHwSHRhtBl7zIojEoqFCPQk3AcSrQ9D7_/s499/VanierDrawnIntoMystery.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="326" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhXVnl9ou-JHWrd2YYmQESMeXbf57pL2j3Zwf6DdLCjjxZMhJHyKSvQbnpjebiCTeS1vlVa3XjV7OTTdjE-R9eic_LkM6uGQdeoyt5_4-ZkeyOwTqR0cO4mFjZ_3cNIOvOY3v5DFfPdqAd_YoiXCNhVjBGHwSHRhtBl7zIojEoqFCPQk3AcSrQ9D7_/s320/VanierDrawnIntoMystery.jpg" width="209" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">I love Jean Vanier’s thoughts here (even
after learning of his abusive relationships, albeit now with an asterisk…): "Jesus
loves us so much that he kneels in front of us so that we may begin to trust
ourselves. As Jesus washes our feet, he is saying 'I trust you and I love you.
You are important to me. I want you to trust yourself because you can do
beautiful things for the kingdom. You can give life; you can bring peace. I
want you to discover how important you are. All I am asking is that you believe
in yourself because you are a beloved child of God.'"</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> I
don't usually re-narrate biblical scenes at length, but on Maundy Thursday I
invite my people to imagine that first Holy Thursday night. Maybe like
Palm Sunday, the disciples were in a buoyant, expectant mood (it was Passover,
after all, an evening of jubilation!), while Jesus was mired in a more somber
apprehension of what was to come. They sang Psalms - any or all of
113-118. What did their voices sound like? Did Jesus or one of the others lead?
Did they harmonize? How did "Precious in the eyes of the Lord is the
death of his saints” (in Psalm 116, our lection for the day!) or “This is the
day the Lord has made” (from 118) resonate with Jesus and the rest of
them? This is the preaching angle I often suggest: instead of asking
about takeaways or relevance to me today, I just ask people to marvel over what
happened then.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">
Beyond any doubt, Jesus stared at that bread and caught a vision of what
would happen to his own flesh the next day. And then he peered into the wine
and glimpsed an image of the blood he would shed. How haunting, lovely,
gripping, poignant.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPPYfETvScl5EFyTKn6Pco64VZW_-EIxynPSdk_vsQllmfpB9nTQsPTw-TViXdbs1N6rM_lc-LsPX_-cM3tikAHt2oqtZpz4FiHx1OAR3fq5q3n0Bxu3UdxYLdhJMJPS9wX4b8XkanbDM_vDbzdLRXfhwe72ri6n-rvjkQinEJDCmzdHDIBxvt94p/s475/FarrerCrown.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="310" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCPPYfETvScl5EFyTKn6Pco64VZW_-EIxynPSdk_vsQllmfpB9nTQsPTw-TViXdbs1N6rM_lc-LsPX_-cM3tikAHt2oqtZpz4FiHx1OAR3fq5q3n0Bxu3UdxYLdhJMJPS9wX4b8XkanbDM_vDbzdLRXfhwe72ri6n-rvjkQinEJDCmzdHDIBxvt94p/s320/FarrerCrown.jpg" width="209" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">When
they ate, what did they think? We quiz candidates for ordination
about their theology of the Eucharist; just to be clear, a struggling
seminarian and even the frankly less than average churchgoer today understands
more of what was going on that the disciples did. Austin Farrer (in his
unfortunately out of print <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Crown of
the Year</i>) put it beautifully:</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> “Jesus
gave his body and blood to his disciples in bread and wine. Amazed at such a
token, and little understanding what they did, Peter, John and the rest reached
out their hands and took their master and their God. Whatever else they knew or
did not know, they knew they were committed to him… and that they, somehow,
should live it out.” I like that. We are mystified – but we know we
receive Jesus himself, and we are thereby committed to him, come what
may. As N.T. Wright rightly suggested, when we eat and drink at the
Lord’s table, “we become walking shrines, living temples in whom the living
triune God truly dwells.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyMa90zWQVQP4d2BR6UrgVMTiR8hEuR-ie12B8h5g-qN6XGQbplZ5QrlHfaDULHyBReg39pcjGTFa78kScyZRFoG0dYH-5bKfRpBCV1G_6f9TlD_LPpHt1IZAgR6oWRFDzKSH0sa1ykqaMouqhveIOnCdAEESrEb-DpVIMfoYNIrMAnoUkYfZ3BRoh/s524/martinsheen%20(1).jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="524" data-original-width="349" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyMa90zWQVQP4d2BR6UrgVMTiR8hEuR-ie12B8h5g-qN6XGQbplZ5QrlHfaDULHyBReg39pcjGTFa78kScyZRFoG0dYH-5bKfRpBCV1G_6f9TlD_LPpHt1IZAgR6oWRFDzKSH0sa1ykqaMouqhveIOnCdAEESrEb-DpVIMfoYNIrMAnoUkYfZ3BRoh/s320/martinsheen%20(1).jpg" width="213" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">What do our people think as they amble
slowly forward? I invite them into what Martin Sheen said to Krista Tippett in an
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">On Being</i> episode: “<span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">How can we
understand these great mysteries of the church? I don’t have a
clue. I just stand in line and say Here I am, I’m with them, the community
of faith. This explains the mystery, all the love. So</span></span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">metimes I’m overwhelmed,
just watching people in line. It’s the most profound thing. You just
surrender yourself to it.”</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Inclusivity
is debated – but how inclusive was Jesus? Jürgen Moltmann (in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Church in the Power of the Spirit</i>): “The
Lord’s supper takes place on the basis of an invitation which is as open as the
outstretched arms of Christ on the cross. Because he died for the
reconciliation of ‘the world,’ the world is invited to reconciliation in the
supper.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"> In my book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Worshipful-Living-Sunday-Morning-Week/dp/1625642474/ref=sr_1_1_twi_pap_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1489280604&sr=8-1&keywords=James+Howell"><span style="color: blue;">Worshipful: Living Sunday Morning All Week</span></a></i>, I quote these words and then turn to the lovely interview Krista Tippett had a while back with Father Greg Boyle, whose ministry with gang members in California is impressive and moving:<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>“We’</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;">ve wrestled the cup out of Jesus’ hand and we’ve replaced it with a chalice because who doesn’t know that a chalice is more sacred than a cup, never mind that Jesus didn’t use a chalice?”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Then he told how he asked an abused orphan and former gang member in his program, “What did you do for Christmas?” The young man said he cooked a turkey “ghetto-style,” and invited six other guys to join him. When he named them, Boyle recognized them as members of warring gangs. As he pondered them cooking together on Christmas day, he wondered, “So what could be more sacred than seven orphans, enemies, rivals, sitting in a kitchen waiting for a turkey to be done? Jesus doesn't lose any sleep that we will forget that the Eucharist is sacred. He is anxious that we might forget that it’s ordinary, that it’s a meal shared among friends.”</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTi9CQ-BL_MvY18xst4r7iVuC89xulAuRnkJv3bV0zusFBGCwo4osTrsehAghMxA7TB2h9yakxLQqXUxiX2TEF7Myx6Vxr-PwX8Xv7eDZmo34zypskJ6xzKjWmM3_CyueA65307_WGL2dTrbeZkjDKxJ_TiOoAusE8aluEkCQICy8VxYdLzZIqddz/s900/HoffmanChristGethsemane.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="641" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTi9CQ-BL_MvY18xst4r7iVuC89xulAuRnkJv3bV0zusFBGCwo4osTrsehAghMxA7TB2h9yakxLQqXUxiX2TEF7Myx6Vxr-PwX8Xv7eDZmo34zypskJ6xzKjWmM3_CyueA65307_WGL2dTrbeZkjDKxJ_TiOoAusE8aluEkCQICy8VxYdLzZIqddz/s320/HoffmanChristGethsemane.jpg" width="228" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">A
few years ago, it occurred to me that my reflections on something as stupendous
and tender as Maundy Thursday were growing stale. How to find a new
wrinkle? I tend to forget that Maundy Thursday includes Jesus bolting out
into the dark to pray in Gethsemane – and being arrested. On that prayer
of agony, I am always moved by <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Jesus
Christ Superstar</i>’s “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Os5JcwGb2xY">I
Only Want to Say</a>.” I’ve made a point over the years of correcting a
popular image of Gethsemane – that of Heinrich Hoffman’s “Christ in Gethsemane”
(hanging in the Riverside Church, NY) – Jesus praying placidly, well-coiffed,
almost as if saying his bedtime prayers. Willem Dafoe captured that
searing agony in Martin Scorsese’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Last
Temptation of Christ</i>.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> And
then, of course, the poignancy of Judas’s kiss, and the arrest – and I am
continually mentioning the detail that I can’t and don’t even want to
explain: in John 18:6 Jesus says, “I am he.” What happened
next? “The soldiers drew back and fell to the ground.” Wow.<o:p></o:p></span></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-28529135718707643272024-01-01T02:39:00.000-08:002024-01-04T17:07:54.948-08:00What can we say Good Friday?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPDBTeuHkWitoSXKkYXUUx2oX4FazWU7PdX7nIrxyupw8yOnu-kyvxQKxg7j10u1ZPaMLDw5aNnGdugAac_I0cDRl08YcvgKuF22PRL3GM3AQV4qpZV7cCgCVKi4elsdypPiA0OiODcay38qLxj0TnxY-P9Lu1rB2zsROwO4T2jXYTtXqjwZdZWGUo/s600/11.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="439" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPDBTeuHkWitoSXKkYXUUx2oX4FazWU7PdX7nIrxyupw8yOnu-kyvxQKxg7j10u1ZPaMLDw5aNnGdugAac_I0cDRl08YcvgKuF22PRL3GM3AQV4qpZV7cCgCVKi4elsdypPiA0OiODcay38qLxj0TnxY-P9Lu1rB2zsROwO4T2jXYTtXqjwZdZWGUo/s320/11.JPG" width="234" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I love Good Friday, or I’m humbled by it,
privileged to be in the relatively shadowy room. It’s such a quiet service, no
long silences so much as the tone and mood of whatever sounds the choir,
readers and preacher make. “Preach” or “homily”: too strong, too grandiose to
describe what I try to do. I meditate, and feel the shudder, the sorrow, the
beauty and majesty. I prepare not by exegesis but by gazing at and pondering
art, whether it’s Rouault or Grünewald or one among so many that avoid being
corny or sappy.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKI5Gtch_xsF1RiH2tU4B1TcjR6W800OF2f6YEpo1sZSqhlKz7tjLd9I6my8KASy0a0BFFB1Wglni8d79jw7igZ3ay1ev6U8z9UN5c3pQfd0VqZ3p_1mFAp5WFmE_tiwe75nUa29SIyijLQ3z-G3FKjlNjrQVYPSl_2QDuQU7dUiRkBjAwxRPWF5lK/s494/13.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="494" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKI5Gtch_xsF1RiH2tU4B1TcjR6W800OF2f6YEpo1sZSqhlKz7tjLd9I6my8KASy0a0BFFB1Wglni8d79jw7igZ3ay1ev6U8z9UN5c3pQfd0VqZ3p_1mFAp5WFmE_tiwe75nUa29SIyijLQ3z-G3FKjlNjrQVYPSl_2QDuQU7dUiRkBjAwxRPWF5lK/s320/13.JPG" width="311" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> At
our church, we always read the Isaiah 52:13-53:12 early. Haunting.
Good Friday isn't the time to explicate this complex text and its background.
We trust the words to do their thing. And Psalm 22: Jesus' heart-wrenching
cry, himself forsaken, and joining his God-forsakenness forever to ours. I try
to ponder the horror, the sorrow Mary felt as she watched her son cry out these
words she had taught him as a little boy.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Then
we do the Gospel reading in stages, gradually extinguishing lights
and then candles until we are immersed in total darkness. On Good Friday, more
than any other day, we are humbled by our inability to say anything – just as
Jesus was all but silent as he hung for hours. On this day, more than any
other, we realize we do not need to make the Bible relevant, or to illustrate
it. We can and must simply trust the reading to do the work it has done
for 2000 years.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just as the art is better than a chatty
sermon, our hymns articulate all this so provocatively. “When I survey the
wondrous cross.” I don’t glance at it. I study it, measure it, measure myself
by it. “Sorrow and love flow mingled down… Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
or thorns compose so rich a crown?” All the paradoxes sung pensively. “O Sacred
Head, Now Wounded.” Yes, his hands, feet and side were gored and gruesome. But
the head: the brow, with that poisonously pointed crown, the eyes, looking at
the soldiers and his mother, the mouth, thirsting, and speaking words of mercy
for the soldiers and provision for his mother. You can fashion a whole
meditation / homily just looking at and reflecting on that head – knowing he is
our Head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMJttK3olpKajDjDdmb7YvxW13PS8slwraqZrW9OvMz0sEGEdVBfIhc71kOZV9N3D6xkvF7C9C0--6WnK13nrfUfEr8VIW884U3ew0IgFj6mzYaRYL4D3mi0A03Erc09Qo9CvMOr0IYYLNSizounofZsKNjl9-ivDSjI0rsolxqvXzhEI127G44yX1/s434/cimabue.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="434" data-original-width="328" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMJttK3olpKajDjDdmb7YvxW13PS8slwraqZrW9OvMz0sEGEdVBfIhc71kOZV9N3D6xkvF7C9C0--6WnK13nrfUfEr8VIW884U3ew0IgFj6mzYaRYL4D3mi0A03Erc09Qo9CvMOr0IYYLNSizounofZsKNjl9-ivDSjI0rsolxqvXzhEI127G44yX1/s320/cimabue.PNG" width="242" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">We part in silence at the service’s end. I’m
not in a chatty mood myself, and I don’t want to let them off the hook by
exchanging premature Easter greetings. There’s no moral, no takeaway. Just be in
awe. Feel the pain, if you can – as Francis of Assisi prayed constantly before
a crucifix: “Lord, 2 graces I ask of you before I die: first, that I might
feel, in my body and soul, as far as possible, the pain you underwent in your
most bitter passion; and then, that I might feel, in my body and soul, as far
as possible, the love that so enflamed you to undergo such passion for us
sinners.” </span><o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Talk about answered prayer. Francis prayed to feel the pain. And God gave him the stigmata, wounds in his hands, feet and side that bled intermittently the final 2 years of his life.</span></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-336892612916092024-01-01T02:37:00.000-08:002024-01-04T17:08:19.645-08:00What can we say March 31? Easter Sunday<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaX_aXJysn1GHkwZee5VZw3bUvVHoukdBe642I5BAbdeNUn2oL_0B_RGhUA0plyQMLrY61BexRkTWu1dttxOOts5bF3rcWxL6fkW3OEuZwYmOKEKSFrVSt3CzLi5KgXB-sgA4tSaom1LRYK-0UQuBqZw7Efbtq4j0nMUcIi7CF22eZQBBB_mEWHM7ju7w/s3960/KavinRoweSeriousPreferred.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3960" data-original-width="2640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaX_aXJysn1GHkwZee5VZw3bUvVHoukdBe642I5BAbdeNUn2oL_0B_RGhUA0plyQMLrY61BexRkTWu1dttxOOts5bF3rcWxL6fkW3OEuZwYmOKEKSFrVSt3CzLi5KgXB-sgA4tSaom1LRYK-0UQuBqZw7Efbtq4j0nMUcIi7CF22eZQBBB_mEWHM7ju7w/s320/KavinRoweSeriousPreferred.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">I can never decide if preaching Easter is
one fabulous moment, or a vaguely monotonous drudgery. I mean, it’s Easter. No
greater day could be to preach. And yet, they come</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">- in droves! – yet inoculated against the
radical truth of the day, thinking it’s that All Dogs Go To Heaven, that it’s
all about flowers and pretty dresses, the flowers blooming in Spring. We’re
fortunate – maybe – this year in that Easter is early enough that all may not
yet be in bloom.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can only point you to two earlier posts on
prior Easter Sundays, <a href="https://jameshowellsweeklypreachingnotions.blogspot.com/2020/07/what-can-we-say-easter-sunday.html">this
one</a> focused on Kavin Rowe’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Christianity’s
Surprise – </i>and then <a href="https://jameshowellsweeklypreachingnotions.blogspot.com/2019/01/what-can-we-say-easter-sunday.html">this
one</a>, that attends to the fact that Easter was “after the Sabbath.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Friends, preach well – which is only fitting
– on Easter. But don’t be exasperated if, afterwards, the response is a bit
tepid. So it was for the first proclaimers of the astonishingly good news.<o:p></o:p></span></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-30992733977366621682024-01-01T02:35:00.000-08:002024-01-04T17:08:41.641-08:00What can we say April 7? Easter 2<p> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> Easter 2's texts astonish us with the difference resurrection makes. </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Acts 4:32-35</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> describes a vital church
not much like ours at all. What was the greater miracle for those first
Christians? That they coughed up all their possessions to insure no one went
without? or that they were of one heart and soul? I've tried in sermons to name this. People nod - but no property changes hands.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_QXSqbZe3dAOoXNuSkLsqQFis5X2HVJr_K48E9Ll1_qra63ZzQ-g3M383CTM5l5HJiBt8MiTfW2axNhLsKcfy8PU0X9LgTeRoveJH28pfZSUCj4xKmD2r2TxdGTKgFjySCAvEd6du6huv5xUYpwv6iTj8RcBoTVKlFuuKKTZwpJjucakxPBnShvHeIjM/s686/willie-james-jennings.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="686" data-original-width="654" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_QXSqbZe3dAOoXNuSkLsqQFis5X2HVJr_K48E9Ll1_qra63ZzQ-g3M383CTM5l5HJiBt8MiTfW2axNhLsKcfy8PU0X9LgTeRoveJH28pfZSUCj4xKmD2r2TxdGTKgFjySCAvEd6du6huv5xUYpwv6iTj8RcBoTVKlFuuKKTZwpJjucakxPBnShvHeIjM/s320/willie-james-jennings.png" width="305" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> Willie Jennings phrases the issue eloquently, speaking of "the new order of giving rooted in the divine wanting, rooted in the divine desire to join us together... Money here will be used to destroy what money normally is used to create: distance and boundaries between people... God watches and waits to see faith that connects resource to need."</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Psalm 133</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> is a fitting Easter text: How lovely when brothers
dwell together in unity. Or we might today say, How rare. Or How
miraculous. How resurrection-like. There is an inextricable link
between "No one said any of the things he possessed was his own but they
had everything in common" and "And with great power they gave
testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus" and "There was not a
needy person among them." We can talk evangelistic tools or church growth
strategies all we'd like; but the early Christians expanded exponentially
because their witness was what they did with their possessions. We are so
enmeshed, we prefer to keep our own stuff and blame others who don't have
enough, or we feel noble if we toss some loose change or some leftover canned
goods into a basket.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ti3heTJpAgPwuQoQFdI5GCfsiJw1fWP16FEvmmr_wDBYTd-yw615IH4PWwOiBvpFJwtRMikOlQKHtuyta9sGZXPfNyL1SjHcGANtQ6tvYRW6ZzcuvWD-3m6bCYF6CDILYQrPwAoWw_-ZZkifOFGYkCCMONXTnYk8qN2vNozcv5iPr5JLVUwZqrXDDuU/s499/BauckhamJesusEyewitnesses.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="338" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ti3heTJpAgPwuQoQFdI5GCfsiJw1fWP16FEvmmr_wDBYTd-yw615IH4PWwOiBvpFJwtRMikOlQKHtuyta9sGZXPfNyL1SjHcGANtQ6tvYRW6ZzcuvWD-3m6bCYF6CDILYQrPwAoWw_-ZZkifOFGYkCCMONXTnYk8qN2vNozcv5iPr5JLVUwZqrXDDuU/s320/BauckhamJesusEyewitnesses.jpg" width="217" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> Speaking of testimony: in my circles, we do not attend sufficiently to the
remarkable epistle text for Easter 2, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">1
John 1:1-2:2</b>. The writer speaks urgently about what they
had seen "with our own eyes, which we have looked upon and touched
with our hands... We saw it!" Richard Bauckham wrote a fantastic,
definitive-feeling book (<i>Jesus and the Eyewitnesses</i>) about how the Gospels came
to be, and it's all about the piling up of eyewitness accounts. The
earliest Christian preachers could say We saw him, we touched him, if
anybody could debunk the resurrection or his lordship, it would be us. </span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> I
continue to speculate over the role of testimony in preaching. I suspect that
while I engage in it, I don't go far enough. I think people want to hear
that Yes, I believe this - as opposed to I've gotten up a sermon
for you today. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sWYPxmc4BxQb8iEtXTGzbRJtOH1ya4IHrBpl5k2iSjoOzgC3VDMgc0m7BNWjeA7LhoYs4yMk0ZVEWfgdNRFD8t4zJvCrox1YPdnn9j95ULB0g1ACaffroueD4Zira_-rMQiuusChCSBvu7orAvXZMEGHwJalijNVv1FLbOQpZLXfqetKQnJIm3cTvRA/s425/WimanJoy.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="283" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sWYPxmc4BxQb8iEtXTGzbRJtOH1ya4IHrBpl5k2iSjoOzgC3VDMgc0m7BNWjeA7LhoYs4yMk0ZVEWfgdNRFD8t4zJvCrox1YPdnn9j95ULB0g1ACaffroueD4Zira_-rMQiuusChCSBvu7orAvXZMEGHwJalijNVv1FLbOQpZLXfqetKQnJIm3cTvRA/s320/WimanJoy.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> And notice in 1 John the purpose of them
sharing what they saw and touched: so we can have fellowship with each other
and with God, and so that "our joy may be complete." Love it:
not You better be joyful, but We are joyful. Joy isn't happiness jacked
up a notch or two. It's so very different - and I would commend to you
Christian Wiman's lovely collection of poetry about joy, with his
startlingly wise commentary. And, as I've said in this blog repeatedly, the
point of Easter is forgiveness, not I get eternal life now. How much clearer
could it be? 1 John goes from fellowship with God via the resurrection to
being forgiven and forgiving.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> It’s
not OK, he was real, but his mission and theirs is “the word of life,” and
the ultimate goal, “so you may be in communion with us.” The Greek <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">koinonia</i> is narrated in Acts, where
the first Christians held their possessions in common, and cared for the needy
all around. Way more than “fellowship,” the kind church people rightly enjoy
where they delight in seeing one another – the big loss during the pandemic!
It’s welcoming the stranger, friendship among the unlikely, sacrificial sharing
– in short, our relationships being mirror images of God’s with us, and the
only meaningful result of God having koinonia with us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjh6Zh6wgIf4QJlbmDbtJrce8vRENhDMnrAM7UiPTlbNRiJnkwJtT-KtUeUbuNHMrHvU9XKrrs1iVo0NizW_XfaAVExkK3_DeFur6B8BlBhVe0TTy-Z-b2Dzak7oTPwWTKJEBKz7Cs9J3P-MhBFroSuNwB-mEyMrfqmcbpTpDbzT40ECCdVAbELrUw7Ng/s1200/apollo13.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjh6Zh6wgIf4QJlbmDbtJrce8vRENhDMnrAM7UiPTlbNRiJnkwJtT-KtUeUbuNHMrHvU9XKrrs1iVo0NizW_XfaAVExkK3_DeFur6B8BlBhVe0TTy-Z-b2Dzak7oTPwWTKJEBKz7Cs9J3P-MhBFroSuNwB-mEyMrfqmcbpTpDbzT40ECCdVAbELrUw7Ng/s320/apollo13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> Quotable, this Epistle text! “God is light, and in him is no darkness at
all.” Switch on a light or a candle and see how the darkness flees. Less
cherished are other quotables, like “If we boast to be in communion with God
while walking in darkness, we are liars.” Verse 1:9 explicates forgiveness, and
we needn’t bother with the fineries of what is expiation vs forgiveness vs
cleansing, as we’d best first and lovingly persuade our people that it isn't so
much that they have a problem, like Apollo 13 hurtling without fuel or air in
space – but rather, they are a problem, savable not by human
ingenuity though but only by divine intervention. The rescue is the death of
the person we saw, heard and touched – and the Calvinists’ TULIP will struggle
to explain away the seemingly un<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">L</b>imited
atonement in 2:2: “not only for our sins but also for the whole world.” That’s
worth quoting, and pondering. We yearn for – and can expect! – forgiveness, not
for me, or those I love, but the whole world?</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">John 20:19-31</b>. The preacher can set a
mood people can understand easily: doors are locked, fear dominates. And
they can't seem to recognize Jesus (Mary Magdalene or the twelve!).
"I think they are blinded by their unfulfilled expectations and their
feelings of loss and despair" (Jean Vanier). To fearful people
behind locked doors (pandemic-like?) Jesus speaks Peace into their fear – and
hopeful and hard-to-believe word for us obsessed with locks, security systems,
urban anxiety, even the proliferation of guns. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl0x_pSUNTlqoGSisZOtmLeoCWYQYk66crcCLYcMg2oBn_HKcRMNANdwm6hlef4AaJ21CbLv_WuizVtAmPx5cLWnlPuIZuauNu7-SjhRDc3AVa8YEU-pJaIKuvNYNpZAt7k2KPTCDE6GGyPXbMguEZ4lliSgvXJSnQc651nAiE82YXy99mfQye0CA8iWY/s1024/Brueggemann2-706x1024.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="706" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl0x_pSUNTlqoGSisZOtmLeoCWYQYk66crcCLYcMg2oBn_HKcRMNANdwm6hlef4AaJ21CbLv_WuizVtAmPx5cLWnlPuIZuauNu7-SjhRDc3AVa8YEU-pJaIKuvNYNpZAt7k2KPTCDE6GGyPXbMguEZ4lliSgvXJSnQc651nAiE82YXy99mfQye0CA8iWY/s320/Brueggemann2-706x1024.jpg" width="221" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">There’s even a civilizational
kind of fear well described by Walter Brueggemann: all people fall into 2
categories, those who fear the world they treasured is crumbling all around
them, and those who fear the world they dream of will never come to be. I have
found in declaring this that people, even if for a moment, find some common
ground.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcyKSwooU2lzHX5dIyctt4t_l3wpaX1VwE4VPhq-JAS3Gl6VFryo-Qyro6pQLBxPKpbQUhyBvlYkWBHXCLz2jFf77quZnq7B9pSa8GqieZG_C7OFcDU1gF3EziSHvzNsrH8tNugThvP7nNHPfpy084tUQiNwh9CkNq05A1tWt__lMHpc8rXRYdRwBXt64/s290/ElieWiesel.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="290" data-original-width="250" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcyKSwooU2lzHX5dIyctt4t_l3wpaX1VwE4VPhq-JAS3Gl6VFryo-Qyro6pQLBxPKpbQUhyBvlYkWBHXCLz2jFf77quZnq7B9pSa8GqieZG_C7OFcDU1gF3EziSHvzNsrH8tNugThvP7nNHPfpy084tUQiNwh9CkNq05A1tWt__lMHpc8rXRYdRwBXt64/s1600/ElieWiesel.jpg" width="250" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> There
is no fear near Jesus – but this doesn’t mean you can relax. Elie Wiesel
famously said “If an angel ever says, ‘Be not afraid,’ you’d better watch
out: a big assignment is on the way.” Jesus comforts with one hand
and then shoves them out into hard labor and danger with the other. These
disciples, and ours today, have work to do, requiring courage, and some peace.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> The
scars in Jesus’ hands and side, earned when he gave life to all of us, were not
blotted out by the resurrection (John 20:27). I love that Jesus shows up, not
as powerful but as the wounded one. The wounds are his glory. What do we sing
in "Crown Him with Many Crowns”? “Behold his hands and side. Those
wounds, yet visible above, in beauty glorified.” His wounds are his love.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQHYTYfPsj1XKVfA_0M_cPA6sFDQZ2jq2PoJAdndx4xcqBdzdlc7GAQwjOEbT0h-Vi2TZQAxX0-HokGYp08ew_lTR1GqRCgjfIZkEqBJohSPeuUzHjnv5HWX4VRuMisnBw6KKZTEzFmFdMsg4Mf8H8PVbQatD7INMS8QuX3fxR1FCiCf407K2_SyQzmo/s320/RachelHollis.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="232" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioQHYTYfPsj1XKVfA_0M_cPA6sFDQZ2jq2PoJAdndx4xcqBdzdlc7GAQwjOEbT0h-Vi2TZQAxX0-HokGYp08ew_lTR1GqRCgjfIZkEqBJohSPeuUzHjnv5HWX4VRuMisnBw6KKZTEzFmFdMsg4Mf8H8PVbQatD7INMS8QuX3fxR1FCiCf407K2_SyQzmo/s1600/RachelHollis.jpg" width="232" /></a></div> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Every time I work at this text, I go to
Rachel Hollis, TV personality and author of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Girl, Wash Your Face</i>, who posted an Instagram photo of herself that
went viral with this caption: “I have stretch marks and I wear a bikini…
because I’m proud of this body and every mark on it… They aren’t scars, ladies,
they’re stripes and you’ve earned them.” Earned scars, earned through the
enfleshing of love.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> I’m fond too of the insight Graham
Greene shared in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The End of the
Affair</i>. A woman notices what used to be a wound on her lover’s
shoulder, and contemplates the advancing wrinkles in his face: “I thought of
lines life had put on his face, as personal as a line of writing – I thought of
a scar on his shoulder that wouldn’t have been there if once he hadn’t tried to
protect another man from a falling wall. The scar was part of his
character, and I knew I wanted that scar to exist through all eternity.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Jesus
breathes on them. Fascinating – especially after the pandemic. Of course we are
to think of God’s breath giving life to the first humans (Genesis 2), and the
reviving of the dead nation during the exile (Ezekiel 37), not deadly with the
Coronavirus, although deadly perhaps to sin, self and a vapid life. I like to
ponder that, for Jesus to breathe on them or anybody, they’ve got to be
standing close, right next to him. Is discipleship just sticking as close to Jesus
as possible, to feel his breath?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPUBcitfMRxkSe6srigPl7oVhplMTtN7yTSJQO-qnOddO_SjaiT5J1KwchMDvmc3PaGMxWn_NHXQFQTVBpgOgGnA2R8Ty2tNp3k0rLmK6UwAcHL6hLep6sA7Gj6VjrwLrAFVLTJD00Ise6d-U8cE6NYY29QCQGeQOIsHQ5MgVKk2cYIKswKFCNYeS1Go/s320/CaravaggioThomas.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="257" data-original-width="320" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPUBcitfMRxkSe6srigPl7oVhplMTtN7yTSJQO-qnOddO_SjaiT5J1KwchMDvmc3PaGMxWn_NHXQFQTVBpgOgGnA2R8Ty2tNp3k0rLmK6UwAcHL6hLep6sA7Gj6VjrwLrAFVLTJD00Ise6d-U8cE6NYY29QCQGeQOIsHQ5MgVKk2cYIKswKFCNYeS1Go/s1600/CaravaggioThomas.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> I’m
wary of sermons that get fixated on “doubting” Thomas. It’s a thing; I’m unsure
if it helps parishoners if the clergy say “I have doubts too!” We’ve all heard
sermons about “doubting Thomas.” Doubt is hardly praised in this story. If
anything, Jesus dings him, contrasting him with those who haven’t seen and yet
believe. He is loved and treated with immense compassion; Jesus invites
him to touch the wounds. The Greek is graphic, with Jesus saying “thrust” or
“press” or “cast” your finger into (like down in there) my side. Caravaggio
captured this in a stunning way…</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I might still want to celebrate doubt, which
isn’t a failure of faith but asking darn good questions. Mark Helprin, in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Winter’s Tale</i>, writes “All great
discoveries are products as much of doubt as of certainty, and the two in
opposition clear the air for marvelous accidents.” Robert Penn Warren
wonderfully said “Here, as in life, meaning is, I should say, often more
fruitfully found in the question asked than in any answer given."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgijo-zQG59hkNTDWcMt23nnFIQql1RECvCu1bwcFn8JauwHDx1pi0NayshQNVTLqjq0qMUXnbicO2zDC0A1ui3ZyB2NaLlCRvo19xUBm6xN-ebgQ9wnfaa2tiz9k-S36bCzlMSg0dgteTcfYVfNk3DZ0x_G24mwugReA3PjW24tcQpueUiiEnvu7jBo4Q/s320/SimoneWeil.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="317" data-original-width="320" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgijo-zQG59hkNTDWcMt23nnFIQql1RECvCu1bwcFn8JauwHDx1pi0NayshQNVTLqjq0qMUXnbicO2zDC0A1ui3ZyB2NaLlCRvo19xUBm6xN-ebgQ9wnfaa2tiz9k-S36bCzlMSg0dgteTcfYVfNk3DZ0x_G24mwugReA3PjW24tcQpueUiiEnvu7jBo4Q/s1600/SimoneWeil.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> And then Simone Weil: “One can never
wrestle enough with God if one does so out of pure regard for the truth… Christ
likes us to prefer truth to him because, before being Christ, he is truth. If
one turns aside from him to go toward the truth, one will not go far before
falling into his arms.”</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> My
doubts are less about the existence of God or the resurrection of Christ, but
rather about the possibility of forgiveness or the reality of miraculous
transformation! – which seems to be what this text is ultimately about, and
what Easter in the Bible is entirely attentive to. Jesus is risen, so therefore
– you are forgiven, and you go forgive. Startling. If I tell stories of
forgiveness, the Amish at Nickel Mines, Pa., or Corrie ten Boom and her
sister's executioner, will anyone believe?<o:p></o:p></span></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-48790562080372874312024-01-01T02:33:00.000-08:002024-01-04T17:09:00.361-08:00What can we say April 14? Easter 3<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodIi2EL22nIb59Jk8sbqAF4x0G0wOEQm-DaDyFsdqYkGM8u8JrvGSfZjCDTp66Ady7hTz6a2eSkOI_kHyh__cR6f93B3Kw0WnZdF6HlMw7lLlyDdqXHCfwtjcSjbw8Vd4qSoCF_iyu5agigs-CSX0O5gMWEWblVUVh2kKNID6cMbJ-5R0F0X-ZN6-kTo/s1932/SilvaOrder.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1932" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhodIi2EL22nIb59Jk8sbqAF4x0G0wOEQm-DaDyFsdqYkGM8u8JrvGSfZjCDTp66Ady7hTz6a2eSkOI_kHyh__cR6f93B3Kw0WnZdF6HlMw7lLlyDdqXHCfwtjcSjbw8Vd4qSoCF_iyu5agigs-CSX0O5gMWEWblVUVh2kKNID6cMbJ-5R0F0X-ZN6-kTo/s320/SilvaOrder.jpg" width="212" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">How do we get Easter to feel like a season,
not just a day? Does it matter? We can invite our people to live into the earliest days of the
church, the confusion, then inspiration and buzz of missional activity in the
wake of this shock of all shocks. But it’s not a smooth road, is it? </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Acts 3:12-19</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">, one of those bizarre “Old
Testament” readings the lectionary strays into, has dreadful anti-Semitic
overtones: “You Israelites killed Jesus.” Daniel Silva’s novel, </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">The Order</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">, is terrific with how the New
Testament has fed and still feeds negative sentiment toward Jews. Yom HaShoah,
the annual Holocaust remembrance day, is coming up in a couple of weeks...</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Early,
post-Easter Christianity thrived because of the exchange and circulation of
letters. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">1 John 3:1-7</b> is
so lovely. A preacher could ruminate on various aspects of it for weeks. “See
what love.” We forget that God’s love isn’t a heavenly mood beaming down on us.
It’s historical, real, something visible. “See”: not just glance at, but look,
peruse, survey, study. “What love”: the Greek <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">potapos</i> expresses both quantity and quality, so how much love,
but also what amazing love, agape love.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh87gmsuB6kV8GnFwcFd-S8oqcufA5HUKxSJqW0eK9_UvKdZuipiSzaRlkW5QzY2Mg_nTYWpnhBtVdYQ7DWZwhbYFK-bEpMDO2EpDf_MCYqM-I8DU81d8rZTkCTfzWF_JhtqI3qdGbGG4QMHFKseOChf5bj0fbsiVPVi8mG1n09w0rAcPByo7IWEA07eRw/s1524/TammyFayeBakker.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1524" data-original-width="1024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh87gmsuB6kV8GnFwcFd-S8oqcufA5HUKxSJqW0eK9_UvKdZuipiSzaRlkW5QzY2Mg_nTYWpnhBtVdYQ7DWZwhbYFK-bEpMDO2EpDf_MCYqM-I8DU81d8rZTkCTfzWF_JhtqI3qdGbGG4QMHFKseOChf5bj0fbsiVPVi8mG1n09w0rAcPByo7IWEA07eRw/s320/TammyFayeBakker.jpg" width="215" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">“What we will be has not yet been
revealed.” It has been revealed, but not really, not fully. Clearly resurrected
life for us won’t be a pleasant continuation of all we’ve dug on earth, golf
with regular holes-in-one or, as Tammy Faye Bakker fantasized, heaven as a
shopping mall where you have a credit card with no limit. There, “we will be
like him.” What was Jesus like? That’s ultimate humanity, your truest self,
what you’ll be like… but then John adds, “For we will see him as he is.” I
can’t explicate that sentence well enough. I think in my sermon, I’ll just
repeat it, slowly, two or three times, and let it linger. For. Seeing him will…
make us like him?</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Maybe
the beauty of Jesus, the reality of his compelling self, will capture our
attention and other interests will just melt away, as we’ve come upon this
pearl of great price. This must have been what happened to those fishermen
whose family business, Zebedee & Sons, fell apart when they saw Jesus, whom
they’d never seen before, and dropped everything to traipse off after him, to
go… well, where? They had no idea.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyv8fQp_RubjOzcqYi6B58Q4HHNyZ8WzjHdQiK3MlP2t47kcSMDNtQ8jQKI2DoRs4fkGYFoiAvBMpjWcQYE2mVBk5WnAoTQ-x-nPBoehbzH3dHGthHo1g1BxEJ8sJoAyta3fNLWKuG0peVH-LHN8N4__0-BkKa1yr210kt9Y_YQXolUwLAT_hYDmZ_0DI/s499/RudenGospels.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyv8fQp_RubjOzcqYi6B58Q4HHNyZ8WzjHdQiK3MlP2t47kcSMDNtQ8jQKI2DoRs4fkGYFoiAvBMpjWcQYE2mVBk5WnAoTQ-x-nPBoehbzH3dHGthHo1g1BxEJ8sJoAyta3fNLWKuG0peVH-LHN8N4__0-BkKa1yr210kt9Y_YQXolUwLAT_hYDmZ_0DI/s320/RudenGospels.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Luke 24:36b-48</b> feels like some
scribe, fond of John’s Gospel and a tad disappointed by Luke’s version, spliced
in a pericope so much like John 20! Suddenly Jesus appears in a room (not that
much unlike his behavior at Emmaus!). They aren’t comforted, but startled,
terrified. He invites them to look at and touch his hands and feet. I love
Sarah Ruden's new translation: "Look at my hands and feet, and you'll know
it's me, in person. Feel me over and see, because a spirit doesn't have flesh
and bones, as you can observe that I have." </span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6SI9FdszJWR5jp1BMeCUqj3FH5Xu7iAGx6XM2z73hK0IgZijKBs641re_WwN3UrTf6Ae4HaUM6zDFmGqaY25jTKCrfa26TvP5hqUr3Oc_CkJdOQ4n0MgSq63ZCJALyDkljZwzvQilWfjYydqyLpXUZpSNvVbgnoEqntJvSt-yp5m2Zae-WQwUqvbO5eg/s320/WordOnFireBible.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="245" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6SI9FdszJWR5jp1BMeCUqj3FH5Xu7iAGx6XM2z73hK0IgZijKBs641re_WwN3UrTf6Ae4HaUM6zDFmGqaY25jTKCrfa26TvP5hqUr3Oc_CkJdOQ4n0MgSq63ZCJALyDkljZwzvQilWfjYydqyLpXUZpSNvVbgnoEqntJvSt-yp5m2Zae-WQwUqvbO5eg/s1600/WordOnFireBible.jpg" width="245" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> It's
the scars. Robert Barron, commenting in the lovely new <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Word on Fire Bible</i>: "A
woundless Christ is embraced much more readily by his executioners, since he
doesn't remind them of their crime." So the scars remind of the
forgiveness they need (and that he gives). Barron goes on to point out the plot
of history and the world: "Order, destroyed thru violence, is restored
through greater violence." (Think Rambo, Dirty Harry). Jesus undermines
all of this. The scars remind he's not returning a greater violence for ours.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjERjMscVev5e2k2hXzxpP4e3sxg8shoRdpDX2gcc5ThyphenhyphenMJH2sE-xyp74cYNcnl7KnHkVAYZUVvBmfKAyAWN-I885RTf9tS4V93ZVjcZFF8F0Isve3VLIMAbKxkd0-hsfhPsdT3E5H4XXvxuFs5n9zzPSpZBkVGM1BMSvJvGIM8x7H4QXKpl1xbd90VNKY/s320/RachelHollis.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="232" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjERjMscVev5e2k2hXzxpP4e3sxg8shoRdpDX2gcc5ThyphenhyphenMJH2sE-xyp74cYNcnl7KnHkVAYZUVvBmfKAyAWN-I885RTf9tS4V93ZVjcZFF8F0Isve3VLIMAbKxkd0-hsfhPsdT3E5H4XXvxuFs5n9zzPSpZBkVGM1BMSvJvGIM8x7H4QXKpl1xbd90VNKY/s1600/RachelHollis.jpg" width="232" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> Speaking of John: every time I
work chapter 20, I go to Rachel Hollis, TV personality and author of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Girl, Wash Your Face</i>, who posted an
Instagram photo of herself that went viral with this caption: “I have stretch
marks and I wear a bikini… because I’m proud of this body and every mark on it…
They aren’t scars, ladies, they’re stripes and you’ve earned them.” Earned
scars, earned through the enfleshing of love.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> I’m
fond too of the insight Graham Greene shared in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The End of the Affair</i>. A woman notices what used to be a
wound on her lover’s shoulder, and contemplates the advancing wrinkles in his
face: “I thought of lines life had put on his face, as personal as a line of
writing – I thought of a scar on his shoulder that wouldn’t have been there if
once he hadn’t tried to protect another man from a falling wall. The
scar was part of his character, and I knew I wanted that scar to exist through
all eternity.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFO9JCIbJRe8TVvbyz5UVYmKTyE4PuqWOpk-m77ar0fi3s298fJ59zeAoL68_V6rhJ8WsjPGSbhFMhOqeANJsVN4rNVtGPkjASqOBYyC55hkfLRzyqWOXhZkvzzuxEzndou_M-F815BtMLlGNuQQgPCbQDEpW48o9raogDzW39CbvPmnOWVEb6rPtXlUo/s320/CaravaggioThomas.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="257" data-original-width="320" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFO9JCIbJRe8TVvbyz5UVYmKTyE4PuqWOpk-m77ar0fi3s298fJ59zeAoL68_V6rhJ8WsjPGSbhFMhOqeANJsVN4rNVtGPkjASqOBYyC55hkfLRzyqWOXhZkvzzuxEzndou_M-F815BtMLlGNuQQgPCbQDEpW48o9raogDzW39CbvPmnOWVEb6rPtXlUo/s1600/CaravaggioThomas.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> The scars
in Jesus’ hands and side, earned when he gave life to all of us, were not
blotted out by the resurrection (John 20:27). Caravaggio painted it
graphically. I love that Jesus shows up, not as powerful but as the wounded
one. The wounds are his glory. What do we sing in "Crown Him with Many
Crowns”? Behold his hands and side. Those wounds, yet visible above, in
beauty glorified. </span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr5cnAIaWfPb0TCHAy0DAEd-BDgm58YmUdH51SplQ7LegFwBmrwuT_fUJMg-m7_jcKgl9M4rNUGGFO_LFDfhxwnmIswrrIM-EuVDiPjre4SC2YZLv48_GlbZK8XFbcv-DD5aF1Wa0eInbzZhmYt48jE9ews3gcKsDBogix_cvwZNDYFVw8W4UzJHnUxto/s434/cimabue.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="434" data-original-width="328" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr5cnAIaWfPb0TCHAy0DAEd-BDgm58YmUdH51SplQ7LegFwBmrwuT_fUJMg-m7_jcKgl9M4rNUGGFO_LFDfhxwnmIswrrIM-EuVDiPjre4SC2YZLv48_GlbZK8XFbcv-DD5aF1Wa0eInbzZhmYt48jE9ews3gcKsDBogix_cvwZNDYFVw8W4UzJHnUxto/s320/cimabue.PNG" width="242" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> His
wounds - glorified. Beauty. Jesus showed his scars. St. Francis of Assisi,
who prayed to be like Christ so seriously that God actually answered his prayer
by wounding his hands, feet and side, hid his wounds out of humility! </span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The humility of the risen Christ? He’s
hungry – and they give him a piece of broiled fish. Eat some broiled fish in
preparation to preach. Report on what it tasted like, and what that might have
been like for Jesus, and the astounded disciples. Who could have anticipated
that over time the Greek word for fish, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ichthus</i>, would become a widespread acronym for Jesus Christ, Son of
God, Savior? <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I might just play with this in my sermon.
Jonah and the fish. God creating the fish. Jesus retrieving a coin from a
fish’s mouth. St. Anthony of Padua, following St. Francis’s example of
preaching to birds, preaching to fish, encouraging them to be grateful to God
for water, gills, food, that they survived the flood in huge numbers, and found
their way onto the boat of the disciples just after they saw Jesus – in John
again!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-43291537057652494802024-01-01T02:31:00.000-08:002024-01-04T17:09:20.635-08:00What can we say April 21? Easter 4<p> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Four, not just three great texts! I’ll touch
on Acts and the Epistle, then focus on the Psalm and Gospel – on which I’ll be
preaching.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_YdY4nV26Qgh2FxHZJz5VF4JV03oUu7zJPfnkQdwsDyiFrma23ZatKwy1ml8aa3sHozWPjD6eJYaWVEdkswQW8WhreCOQCWGHd-K2eDG2V5C7ai3V0GifxBS7uyL3gzv44RVmLEJzJBHuSs1ArGCAz3_8kVJGldKsweAAUbgeiFYpSucK_KHvPXEbabc/s499/JenningsActs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="314" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_YdY4nV26Qgh2FxHZJz5VF4JV03oUu7zJPfnkQdwsDyiFrma23ZatKwy1ml8aa3sHozWPjD6eJYaWVEdkswQW8WhreCOQCWGHd-K2eDG2V5C7ai3V0GifxBS7uyL3gzv44RVmLEJzJBHuSs1ArGCAz3_8kVJGldKsweAAUbgeiFYpSucK_KHvPXEbabc/s320/JenningsActs.jpg" width="201" /></a></div> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Acts
4:5-12</b>. Think ministry’s hard today? Jesus’ first leaders wound up in jail
and on trial! Willie Jennings, noting how we expect Jesus to provide us a life
different from Jesus’ own, namely that we will be liked or at least tolerated…
“Jesus ended up in exactly the same kind of place that now his disciples Peter
and John stand, the judged. But he got there before them in order to meet them
there when they arrived and to guide them precisely from that place of being
judged. Jesus never sought to escape the place of judgment. He planned to seize
it.” Boom.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">1
John 3:16-24</b>. Such a lovely, harrowing, inviting and challenging text!
Raymond Brown speaks of the Greek as “infuriatingly complicated,” and he awards
it the “prize in grammatical obscurity.” St. Augustine and John Calvin read the
passage as about the severity, the high demands of God; Martin Luther, always
the contrarian, sees the text as all about God’s mercy. The ambiguity is
pitch-perfect, isn’t it? Scripture is obscure; we keep digging; it’s demand,
it’s mercy. Life as a follower of Jesus, and life for the Body of Christ, is
just like that, always.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Easy
to moralize on verse 17’s hard rhetorical question, How can God’s love be in
someone who has stuff, sees someone in need and refuses to help? Is this a sign
God’s love isn’t in or with such a person? Is it aspirational? Not fully there
just yet? Aren’t there pagans with means who help those in need? And is it a
constant helping of those in need, a genuinely sacrificial helping? Or an
occasional spasm so you can check this off the list? I think simply raising
such questions in the sermon is a good exercise for the listener, and prevents
the preacher from wagging a finger of accusation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjJGizd3nDZCrbpzwxThC3FRzjg-Dwzx4HJm-_KDj2ypTbRJ7_8hQt_a25TKB17qDHQwCdMSDUBDJ2BfgrpWE9rUlB00WJe5blhm3v_bembB1muGavwmZnm_NuzXR6Fb17Wejn2f1EiE0mz7LHIpNTJVaoQTx50IiYFrfBDXuqAPI4Yb1Bww4tIIWHl8o/s645/Martin_Luther_by_Cranach-restoration.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="645" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjJGizd3nDZCrbpzwxThC3FRzjg-Dwzx4HJm-_KDj2ypTbRJ7_8hQt_a25TKB17qDHQwCdMSDUBDJ2BfgrpWE9rUlB00WJe5blhm3v_bembB1muGavwmZnm_NuzXR6Fb17Wejn2f1EiE0mz7LHIpNTJVaoQTx50IiYFrfBDXuqAPI4Yb1Bww4tIIWHl8o/s320/Martin_Luther_by_Cranach-restoration.jpg" width="298" /></a></div> Luther must be right on the mercy since in the next verse we’re called
“little children,” not “you grownup dufuses.” Let us love, not merely talking,
but “in truth and action.” We might prefer him to have said “action,” and leave
off “truth.” What makes love “in truth” beyond “in action”? I can’t interview
the writer… but I will explore stuff we’ve heard in recent years, starting with
“toxic charity.” What a relief (I suspect) for many of our people to learn
there is such a thing, that doing for others can actually cripple them. Just
let them be!<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Z5e6ToJ2sDlhyphenhyphenreEqUcPUlQ7gKz7FJzxWhNO_RTsV5lMWnZ5a86B346EbCC_Sx7iTR0OIYJwBfYZQSckScF1OrVW9tYpKrkCN0mS6aDe5vbfWarPVHpliG1nt-eGKXHEocZy_Txmo4R8h867V913LwHqVGByb63YNeJQl5qQujutmvzEsSAHn_ZqC2E/s499/NazarethManifesto.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="332" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Z5e6ToJ2sDlhyphenhyphenreEqUcPUlQ7gKz7FJzxWhNO_RTsV5lMWnZ5a86B346EbCC_Sx7iTR0OIYJwBfYZQSckScF1OrVW9tYpKrkCN0mS6aDe5vbfWarPVHpliG1nt-eGKXHEocZy_Txmo4R8h867V913LwHqVGByb63YNeJQl5qQujutmvzEsSAHn_ZqC2E/s320/NazarethManifesto.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> And
yet, in what I’m still regarding as maybe the most important theological book
of the decade, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Nazareth Manifesto</i>,
Sam Wells reveals how the Christian doesn’t mail in or drop off charity, and we
also don’t just ignore others because we fear we’ll damage them by our charity.
There is a doing for people that diminishes them. There is
mission-as-fixing. You have a problem? I’m the solution? – which is an inch
from You are a problem. We can do for others. We might
think it nobler to work with others, or to be for them. Sam
says God invites us, best of all, to be with them.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEBXjZxmwwV9WYEpBdYH-TiP-H2ywULX4nQHfKcDrnxIYRJ3c_lvaffkVXQRD29orQkJWdxzIv51W0ufu2XNKIw7K-8ktzCtv4VVMBs7S-a31l_EOhzDA4N1tYfBnXMJEXTFzza9xajdttzqVJ2ktMADS2XfBVphk3C4PBnBdRnqhO-r8mKBT2PKmRivE/s499/MoltmannChurch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="324" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEBXjZxmwwV9WYEpBdYH-TiP-H2ywULX4nQHfKcDrnxIYRJ3c_lvaffkVXQRD29orQkJWdxzIv51W0ufu2XNKIw7K-8ktzCtv4VVMBs7S-a31l_EOhzDA4N1tYfBnXMJEXTFzza9xajdttzqVJ2ktMADS2XfBVphk3C4PBnBdRnqhO-r8mKBT2PKmRivE/s320/MoltmannChurch.jpg" width="208" /></a></div> Indeed,
the seeds of a community’s redemption lie within the community itself. Jürgen
Moltmann: “The opposite of poverty isn’t property; the opposite of both poverty
and property is community.” We have coffee with someone, not to save them, but
to enjoy friendship. Only in this way are they ennobled; only in this way are
we ennobled. Could 1 John imply this is the true way to care for (and really
with) those in need? Or do we drift even further to Mother Teresa’s
articulation of things: we don’t do what we do for other people. We
do it to Jesus. Literally.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Psalm
23</b> can be risky preaching, as so much sugary sentimentality has attached
itself to this overly familiar text. No need to ding people or jolt them out of
their warm fuzzy mood on hearing it; hey, I get warm fuzzy feelings from
hearing it – especially when we read it aloud, together as a Body, at funeral
services. It’s just a matter of the preacher taking them further into what they
were sure they already comprehended well.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> A
few points of interest. To speak of the Lord as shepherd isn’t flattering to us
– although much like sheep, we are foolish creatures, driven entirely by
appetite, easily lost and in peril. I heard a preacher years ago say “Sheep
nibble themselves lost.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> And
then, the shepherd. We romanticize them as rural simpletons. But rulers
throughout the Ancient Near East were called shepherds. As a business, flocks
could number in the tens of thousands, so shepherding required considerable
administrative savvy. Travellers to the Holy Land have observed that shepherds
are a bit rough in appearance, and are quite rough with their sheep. First
shepherd I ever saw was wearing an Elvis t-shirt, big green golashes, swatting
sheep on the rear end with his stick, and hollering expletives. The Lord is my
shepherd.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNCB5v3Ruhe2A2Q0nDwHwVxZNQZ4SEj8VQ1Y8GdJ6oYcn62ysSBtvDne-Hgu5qZJrsQVJpGAowxiNpZxnxgN6MPH7KOBKrhynjrxjAeKIski2UjjtUR7987G4UMLGy31PQDA4Kz1Te-qCz4NEvmX_iGW0chWRSYcgbnQGhfLlHewFKTZsGkwEHDb6zwVI/s320/Sheep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="297" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNCB5v3Ruhe2A2Q0nDwHwVxZNQZ4SEj8VQ1Y8GdJ6oYcn62ysSBtvDne-Hgu5qZJrsQVJpGAowxiNpZxnxgN6MPH7KOBKrhynjrxjAeKIski2UjjtUR7987G4UMLGy31PQDA4Kz1Te-qCz4NEvmX_iGW0chWRSYcgbnQGhfLlHewFKTZsGkwEHDb6zwVI/s1600/Sheep.jpg" width="297" /></a></div> The
shepherd’s care can be tender and personal. It was common for shepherds to give
sheep names. I was never sure, as a child, by that TV program in which Shari
Lewis spoke to her little sheep puppet she called “Lamb Chop” – a name that
sounds more like a meal than a pet. If you want to ponder the shepherd’s
personal care for the sheep, flit over to Jesus’ great story about the shepherd
who had hung onto 99 out of 100 – a super high percentage – but was restless
until he found that one. Jealous, protective, resilient, doggedly loyal:
shepherds. No wonder the angels chose them for their audience when Jesus was
born.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Most
pastors are cognizant that “I shall not want” might be better rendered as “I
will lack no good thing.” This opens up some reflection on our wanting, what is
genuinely good, etc. The “paths of righteousness” – good roads to take, but
what kind of righteous, holy, Torah-filled, disciple living is required of
those who can truly claim to walk there?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">
Someone counted all the Hebrew words in Psalm 23, and it turns out that the
word smack dab in the middle is “with.” The center of the Psalm, the center of
the life of faith, is “thou art with me.” This bears homiletical reflection. Wells’s
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">A Nazareth Manifesto</i> again: God isn’t
primarily a fixer or protector or guarantor of this or that we think we must
have. God’s identity and purpose: simply to be with us. Jesus is Emmanuel, God
with us, not God fixing us or doing favors for us. This then redefines our
mission. We don’t do for others or fix others; we are called to be with them –
as explicated now in Sam’s companion volume on the nature and mission of the
church, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Incarnational Ministry</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> “You
prepare a table for me in the presence of my enemies” bears some thought. It’s
not a taunt (as a scholar I’ll leave unnamed has insisted). From a Christian
theological perspective, the Lord’s table is the place where reconciliation
begins and ends. When you have a dinner party, do not invite those who can
invite you in return (Luke 14). We are to make peace, at table, not with our
pals but with those where relationships are broken or nonexistent.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBh3bTDW9EVzYPx5dgnwl4AauC9V4pSm1phG1CAWzDswILrWut-GYncghPjSuMKVIHczqEc8vbFjnb2u8iHjQfaYSqWagb5vupMMTOjOnNLPgsonP9lkWzjthZh48smrEBJhgmyiUBAgM2TwD7Z4j2EwkLcMUQlKcY_q3Y8lm1JH4UkTToOKb-k1m_bI/s320/sheepdog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="274" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZBh3bTDW9EVzYPx5dgnwl4AauC9V4pSm1phG1CAWzDswILrWut-GYncghPjSuMKVIHczqEc8vbFjnb2u8iHjQfaYSqWagb5vupMMTOjOnNLPgsonP9lkWzjthZh48smrEBJhgmyiUBAgM2TwD7Z4j2EwkLcMUQlKcY_q3Y8lm1JH4UkTToOKb-k1m_bI/s1600/sheepdog.jpg" width="274" /></a></div> I had a strange compulsion a while back when
preaching on Psalm 23. The Lord is my shepherd – but what is the antecedent of
“my”? Sheep, surely? I tried my hand at putting these words into the mouth of
another creature in the pastoral scene: the sheepdog (catch it
on YouTube). It’s his shepherd too. I latched onto this because of a
lovely quotation from Evelyn Underhill I’ve long treasured: “You want to be one
among the sheepdogs employed by the Good Shepherd. Now have you ever
watched a good sheepdog at his work? He is not at all an emotional
animal. He just goes on with his job quite steadily, takes no notice
of bad weather, rough ground, or his own comfort. He seldom or never
comes back to be stroked. Yet his faithfulness, his intimate
understanding with his master, is one of the loveliest things in the
world. Now and then he just looks at the shepherd. When
the time comes for rest they can generally be found together.” I love
Underhill, always spot on, always wise, always full of clarity and insight.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> The
Lord is the shepherd of us, the Body of Christ. This is more evident in <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">John 10:11-18</b> – where the emphasis is
on the courage, the stick-to-it-iveness of the shepherd. Wolves go on the
prowl, but this shepherd doesn’t duck behind a rock. He “gives his life for the
sheep.”</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> I
am increasingly drawn toward preaching to the Body as the Body, not to each
individual sitting there individually. If we are Christ now, if we are his
body, then we have shepherding to do.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj87SLw8hPBvXX-bRTgD_DDphuLjzcKWc9hi0E4LNGBlsHPTOlLZbGJGJV92VU3ToraxLWE4NQ27Sm3fcdXTd_ma9WU6d3XXeqsRPszW3_E-He7q7gT3r9bcqZzb2nhgMCb4mTidGOXMxIxFRTI26Ue6hyaQY9kbjNacaRZEBVJNH8vytleytS-zgMzucc/s788/BonhoefferA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="509" data-original-width="788" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj87SLw8hPBvXX-bRTgD_DDphuLjzcKWc9hi0E4LNGBlsHPTOlLZbGJGJV92VU3ToraxLWE4NQ27Sm3fcdXTd_ma9WU6d3XXeqsRPszW3_E-He7q7gT3r9bcqZzb2nhgMCb4mTidGOXMxIxFRTI26Ue6hyaQY9kbjNacaRZEBVJNH8vytleytS-zgMzucc/s320/BonhoefferA.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> The Greek <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kalos</i> isn’t simply “good,” but may well mean “beautiful,” or
even the “model” shepherd. Bonhoeffer was onto something when he showed us how
our goodness can be a block to doing God’s will. We want to be good, to keep
our hands clean; but God asks us to get our hands dirty for God. Shepherding is
dirty work. Out of doors, exposed to the elements, trudging through mud and
overgrown fields. That’s Jesus’ beauty, right? And ours, when we are the Church
in this world.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfN_WxIt4Egxy6JX4c0g_LWD34vwoP1jleYSg6nvOcu8GbqtcS73s5Pr73ILuCJ8Ymo00Z5neSbjMDBdGiyxUyW05AErnZHL5K730H2vUgwsK8DT1kWCmyDsqaDluWZVllrddSri9XJU98P77j7IdQ88iQ-qnlV07jgjdk_tUjKDWBveen7l-EsTfCaTU/s1360/witheringtonJohn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1360" data-original-width="907" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfN_WxIt4Egxy6JX4c0g_LWD34vwoP1jleYSg6nvOcu8GbqtcS73s5Pr73ILuCJ8Ymo00Z5neSbjMDBdGiyxUyW05AErnZHL5K730H2vUgwsK8DT1kWCmyDsqaDluWZVllrddSri9XJU98P77j7IdQ88iQ-qnlV07jgjdk_tUjKDWBveen7l-EsTfCaTU/s320/witheringtonJohn.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> And
costly work. Ben Witherington points out that in John’s plot, at this point
they are in Jerusalem for the Feast of Dedication,” which celebrated the
military victory of the Maccabees: “True leadership does indeed mean laying
down one's life for the sheep, as some of the Maccabees had in fact done.” Yet
Jesus isn’t fighting the enemy with weapons, but with vulnerability, his own
body, the instrument of love.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihdYiRGQolQ2TNZ0jSM_w21P2EOqf2UOLes7s4sh-sAm_ZfqYogoD5lucDEsRW1r3IDItW4JSs1jt9D9B94P5HXUoPTClqU6G0b1iCihJbGg9g9ffGHB0HIzK-bOnypenCVwzDDp6RRb62BB5t6lXR69oCxN82o-_A-8J7Ku58wOrnnLtwsD2XdVetHjg/s1200/PopeFrancis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihdYiRGQolQ2TNZ0jSM_w21P2EOqf2UOLes7s4sh-sAm_ZfqYogoD5lucDEsRW1r3IDItW4JSs1jt9D9B94P5HXUoPTClqU6G0b1iCihJbGg9g9ffGHB0HIzK-bOnypenCVwzDDp6RRb62BB5t6lXR69oCxN82o-_A-8J7Ku58wOrnnLtwsD2XdVetHjg/s320/PopeFrancis.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> What
does this text say to us as pastors? Pope Francis reflected on bishops who “supervise/oversee”
versus those who “keep watch,” like a shepherd: “Overseeing refers more to
a concern for doctrine and habits, whereas keeping watch is more
about making sure that there be salt and light in people’s hearts… To watch
over it is enough to be awake, sharp, quick. To keep watch you
need also to be meek, patient, and constant in proven charity. Overseeing and watching over suggest a certain
degree of control. Keeping watch, on the other hand, suggests hope, the
hope of the merciful Father who keeps watch over the processes in the hearts of
his children.”<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2CuJoDtnKM__ZkZZ26Acdnoza772puF6wAECn9moyHbjKzfp-OuSD-0sxwDSnFAcR4yjwze8IoookK9gSUq2ezINcMj1ddXiBYDlhyphenhyphenTt8BEapnVmUySQq8gXRLpWbfG_bG_RUQmuJ-3PKR5z49qfS06gwCHENBnZgh5NkgBuovCEeKC3BdBthKEFj0fw/s320/Vanier.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="274" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2CuJoDtnKM__ZkZZ26Acdnoza772puF6wAECn9moyHbjKzfp-OuSD-0sxwDSnFAcR4yjwze8IoookK9gSUq2ezINcMj1ddXiBYDlhyphenhyphenTt8BEapnVmUySQq8gXRLpWbfG_bG_RUQmuJ-3PKR5z49qfS06gwCHENBnZgh5NkgBuovCEeKC3BdBthKEFj0fw/s1600/Vanier.png" width="274" /></a></div> And Jean Vanier pointed out how false
shepherds “are more concerned about their salary, their reputation, structures,
administration and the success of the group. They use people… They
are closed up in their own needs.” And then – what can we say? – Jean Vanier
turned out to be Jean Vanier, a user of women. Lord, have mercy.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> Back to the Pope: “To become a good
shepherd is to come out of the shell of selfishness to be attentive to those for
whom we are responsible, to reveal to them their fundamental beauty and value
and help them grow and become fully alive. It is not easy really to listen. It
is not easy to touch our own fears. It is a challenge to help others gradually
accept responsibility, to trust themselves. When people are weak or lost, they
need a shepherd close to them. Little by little, however, as they discover who
they are, the shepherd becomes more of a friend and companion.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Of
course, John gives us that mysterious “I have other sheep not of this fold.”
Does he mean other religions? Or as one friend of mine believes, Jesus has
people on other planets in other galaxies! Jesus is thinking Gentiles of course
– but here we see his abiding, deep desire for unity among God’s people, which
is the reality in God’s heart, even if our hearts are divided from one another.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidzdPElMDpbYiAatMHztvdL5QqT3zo-89vdfsJF_x8g4dIZ2ILjgQlWc8hh5vMmNcU9JZplgWhWhp-Zlc4azX_Ph57TpOfyy5S2RoRL_hu6jYyZeg3lqA-x13rtRD1eds1ITajgqJF5W24rfH1GjBVh6Dltj9SM9-tmxDFSGyYvyt9wbjSnKmpGbfz5Xg/s2560/ByasseeSurprised.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2560" data-original-width="1707" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidzdPElMDpbYiAatMHztvdL5QqT3zo-89vdfsJF_x8g4dIZ2ILjgQlWc8hh5vMmNcU9JZplgWhWhp-Zlc4azX_Ph57TpOfyy5S2RoRL_hu6jYyZeg3lqA-x13rtRD1eds1ITajgqJF5W24rfH1GjBVh6Dltj9SM9-tmxDFSGyYvyt9wbjSnKmpGbfz5Xg/s320/ByasseeSurprised.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> How to preach all this? Be sure that it
looks, when delivered, like this thought from Jason Byassee: “In John 10, an
odd text is read in an odd way by an exceedingly odd Savior and dished up for
an odd people becoming odder. That is, holier.” A superb goal all of us might
keep in mind as we study, prepare, write, practice, deliver, and reflect on
what unfolded...<o:p></o:p><p></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-2853337731777911132024-01-01T02:09:00.000-08:002024-01-04T17:09:38.851-08:00What can we say April 28? Easter 5<p> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Acts
8:26-40</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> is a spectacular text, of high drama, portraying the excluded
one being included, and the simple power of the Scripture story, not a saga of
winning and success, but of shared suffering and redemption. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Rgr1I7EhuU">I preached on this</a> after an especially messy and disheartening General Conference for
our denomination… The Ethiopian’s question in reply to Philip’s question “Do
you understand” “How can I unless someone guides me?” is perfect. To understand
Isaiah 52-53, you need some guidance. Or the story of Jesus crucified. Verse
34’s question: “Is he speaking of himself or another?” is precisely what
commentators on 2nd Isaiah have asked! And then the priceless, “What is to
prevent me being baptized?” The Church’s historic, embarrassing reply has been
Plenty of things. The leading questions in this text, leading us to questions
about God, faith, Scripture, evangelism and the Sacraments are best raised
quizzically, not answered too primly.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">1 John 4:7-21</b> is way tougher.
Everybody loves. Everybody is a fan of love. We get lost in parsing it as an
emotion that happens – or doesn’t. “Love wins” is a skinny half-truth that
can’t carry the weight of morality or holiness. It’s not that we know Love, and
infer God is like that. God is Love, and we learn Love from God. It’s a
sacrifice (v. 10) – not grudgingly giving up something you dig, but losing self
and life, suffering for the other, the undeserving other, the uninterested
other. Cruciform.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> The
immensity of this divine love is “perfected in us.” Or not… My life mission is
that God’s sacrificial love will find its completion, its purpose, its
embodiment in me – and more importantly, as we over-individualize what the New
Testament does not, in the Church. Church is, or dreams of being and strives to
be, the perfection of God’s love. Put that above the entrance. The proof of
such love comes, not with smiles and hugs, or big coat collections in winter,
but “boldness in the day of judgment.” Churches are to be bold. The world is
watching – or not.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Lots
of “abiding” here, he in us, we in him. “Abide” is such an intriguing word,
implying staying, something calm tucked inside the staying, sticking with. Of
course, “abide” can also mean “tolerate” or “bear,” as in “I cannot abide his
behavior.” Grace is that God abides us, abiding with us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqW3XEVKEKW9H1YAQSVkR2zV0d2xVGivtAzVyprJaA_hBDuck_EsHambRFh_Ge2pAEUuHXjvlH93zgQTvyBFrXIHWdcrBSbtTqbRS4mhbtHnZByalQm8F-oKW2z_fw2-ZKB7IR2H21E4DtYhjI5Ojw5d1Aj_WcHMjfroPPV59V4KldQisiEa7x6M9hggU/s499/BaderSayeFear.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="328" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqW3XEVKEKW9H1YAQSVkR2zV0d2xVGivtAzVyprJaA_hBDuck_EsHambRFh_Ge2pAEUuHXjvlH93zgQTvyBFrXIHWdcrBSbtTqbRS4mhbtHnZByalQm8F-oKW2z_fw2-ZKB7IR2H21E4DtYhjI5Ojw5d1Aj_WcHMjfroPPV59V4KldQisiEa7x6M9hggU/s320/BaderSayeFear.jpg" width="210" /></a></div> “Perfect
love casts out fear” merits attention. Our people suffer much anxiety – and
everybody is fearful of so much. I admire Scott Bader-Saye’s great book on fear
and faith, which includes this wisdom: “We fear excessively when we allow the
avoidance of evil to trump the pursuit of the good. When we fear excessively we
live in a mode of reacting to and plotting against evil rather than actively
seeking and doing what is good. Fear causes our vision to narrow, when what is
needed is for it to be enlarged… Our overwhelming fears need to be overwhelmed
by bigger and better things.” Like the sacrificial and courageous Love of God.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">John 15:1-8</b> would probably be best
preached once the preacher has visited a vineyard (if possible), toured the
vines and interviewed the vintage. Jesus, his disciples and first listeners
participated in the production of wine, given the finds of so many wine presses
all over ancient Judea. And it was at the Last Supper, as Jesus peered into a
cup of red wine and saw a haunting glimpse of his own blood soon to be shed,
that Jesus spoke of being this true vine.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40vXOwsmPLPT_a_muKIXRjyUWLqrQ5XtpSmhNrWTRRtq2jLsFXpUmnE8cJty7iEqIsJSiGHnpf4gK4GsKteOrkGpWR2f_1zNG2uh6GMS_P9uzfgpeF-9j1DYr3AMqZ_skUHznm9VP67FD0PkA9LcvIS3zL0EYHvx0xGTgPOuFlMAyGfODI8_v7zQJinw/s320/GiselaKreglinger.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="235" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh40vXOwsmPLPT_a_muKIXRjyUWLqrQ5XtpSmhNrWTRRtq2jLsFXpUmnE8cJty7iEqIsJSiGHnpf4gK4GsKteOrkGpWR2f_1zNG2uh6GMS_P9uzfgpeF-9j1DYr3AMqZ_skUHznm9VP67FD0PkA9LcvIS3zL0EYHvx0xGTgPOuFlMAyGfODI8_v7zQJinw/s1600/GiselaKreglinger.jpg" width="235" /></a></div> If you can’t get to a vineyard… Gisela
Kreglinger has written a fascinating book called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Spirituality of Wine</i>. {I shared some of the following a few years
back in this blog.} She grew up in a wine-producing family, and teaches us much
about how alienated urban people are from the land and what unfolds there.
Jesus spoke to people who knew vines, vineyards, winepresses, and so his very
vivid image of life with him would have been utterly memorable – and as
listeners found themselves back at work, pruning, pressing, keeping the bugs
away and such, would have seen, felt, and smelled quite tangible images of
their relationship to Jesus.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Acknowledging
the woes of alcohol mis-use, Kreglinger shows how flowing wine is a constant
image of the dawn of God’s kingdom. Then, her details drawn from viticulture
are intriguing – and preachable. Sap from the rootstock journeys through the
vine and gives life to the grapes. There’s this: “When a vine lacks water and
is under stress, it is forced to develop deeper roots… The deeper the roots,
the more the roots interact with and drawn from different layers of soil, and
the more complex (and desirable) the wine becomes.” Vintners can’t just
grow the maximum amount; sustainability requires some restraint, a long-terms
care for the soil.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
then there’s this: “Left to themselves, vines grow like weeds… Part of
cultivating the vines is to prune their branches and tie them onto wires….”
Pruning has its homiletical possibilities – and Kreglinger suggests that the
wires onto which vines are tied “are like the structures and rules in a
religious community; we need them… they give us support and stability.” I
find all this to be wonderfully suggestive, and may well preach a sermon in
which I reflect in a leisurely way over vines, roots, being stressed, pruning,
trellising (especially if I can track down a vineyard worker for an
interview!). After all, monks back in the Middle Ages became the great
wine producers, and tended their vines as a spiritual practice accompanied by
prayer. Even we grape-juice Methodists, with our peculiar and unhappy
relationship with fermented grape juice, can ponder with profit the image of
Jesus as the vine.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> This
business of fruitfulness is always ripe for preaching. (Pun
intended). Bearing fruit, from the vine’s perspective, is different from
the way we think about being good. Ripening fruit doesn’t grit its teeth
and strive really hard to get bigger and change color. It’s a passive
thing, nutrients being pumped into the fruit, entirely dependent on
uncontrollable rainfall and sunshine, and processes that are hidden underground
where no one can see. Holiness is like this; do you remember how the
doctrine of Sanctification actually works?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdqt583mhLRXKMoAoc5Vwd5_uL-u7qnEHfsvWJoULUA0eoQprHoK9r3p1LFs9YBONU3-gfooCyhIKZKIupt4U3VjtUTlm69vR_BRItYgN1pPSK1ZfT1SHRBJpCDWIYWpr_46Yqvvdb8q37Y439T-S_rl9BDkbmULmnZrt7sUeKyLJ4w6E75k99g-CGwGY/s499/WillOfGod.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="323" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdqt583mhLRXKMoAoc5Vwd5_uL-u7qnEHfsvWJoULUA0eoQprHoK9r3p1LFs9YBONU3-gfooCyhIKZKIupt4U3VjtUTlm69vR_BRItYgN1pPSK1ZfT1SHRBJpCDWIYWpr_46Yqvvdb8q37Y439T-S_rl9BDkbmULmnZrt7sUeKyLJ4w6E75k99g-CGwGY/s320/WillOfGod.jpg" width="207" /></a></div> And
then I recall when I was in the thick of writing on <i>The Will of
God</i>. I asked a bunch of theologians about the subject – and one replied
quite simply by saying “If you want to do God’s will, start with the Fruit of
the Spirit in Galatians 5. That can keep you plenty busy for the rest of
your life.”<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Prepositions
matter in theology. A lovely hymn prays, “Abide with me.” But Jesus doesn’t
speak of being beside us, but actually in us, and we in him. Mind you, Jesus
isn’t going for any bland “I feel God in me” or “God is in each one of
us.” It’s way more serious, and downright fleshy than all
that. Jean Vanier rephrased it, “To abide in Jesus is to make our
home in him and to let Jesus make his home in us.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Raymond
Brown rightly says this vine language has “eucharistic overtones.” To
think of the Lord’s Supper – in my book, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Worshipful-Living-Sunday-Morning-Week/dp/1625642474">Worshipful</a></i>, I quoted Austin
Farrer and then explored this thought and its inversion: “Jesus gave his
body and blood to his disciples in bread and wine. Amazed at such a token, and
little understanding what they did, Peter, John and the rest reached out their
hands and took their master and their God. Whatever else they knew or did not
know, they knew they were committed to him… and that they, somehow, should live
it out.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> When
a disciple is filled with Jesus, he remembers what his physical body is to be:
a temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 6:19). As N.T. Wright rightly
suggested, when we eat and drink at the Lord’s table, “we become walking
shrines, living temples in whom the living triune God truly dwells.” To ingest
Jesus is intriguing: we take Christ into ourselves, and he is then within us.
This goes beyond even the closest human relationship, even sexual intimacy. If
Jesus is in us, there is zero distance between us. Over time, creative
theologians would reverse the image: we are consumed by Jesus. We enter into
his body; we get inside Jesus himself. Bernard of Clairvaux spoke imaginatively
about this: “My penitence, my salvation, are His food. I myself am His food. I
am chewed as I am reproved by Him; I am swallowed as I am taught; I am digested
as I am changed; I am assimilated as I am transformed; I am made one as I am
conformed.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-27696484801992292332024-01-01T02:07:00.000-08:002024-01-04T17:14:22.947-08:00What can we say May 5? Easter 6<p> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Acts
10:44-48</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">. Plopped down in the middle of a dramatic narrative, that of
Cornelius and the opening of the Church and its Gospel to Gentiles.
Considerable confusion – not surprising, with no seminaries or tomes of
theology yet! – over who can be baptized and when. The pivot is simply the
surprising movement of the Spirit. How did they have a clue what it was, or how
to measure its authenticity? </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPzgOnvyA4nNgMASmwBpKTKGOcIDhW0Ugxi3_AVDe7rB5uaOCvZgfyn-7_a-ro3Ubd8G_PqwkBVkz8Em7fFlsIbvctyyHnE2kmgwzlZzWTOt5SvYyCE-b5OAst7ItM39HgeDcnkzo7wObhv7970OLVe2SOGNJBlFnV6oJ4b-oYlT2DrEoPY1Ej0AGwZeM/s1800/WIllieJennings.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPzgOnvyA4nNgMASmwBpKTKGOcIDhW0Ugxi3_AVDe7rB5uaOCvZgfyn-7_a-ro3Ubd8G_PqwkBVkz8Em7fFlsIbvctyyHnE2kmgwzlZzWTOt5SvYyCE-b5OAst7ItM39HgeDcnkzo7wObhv7970OLVe2SOGNJBlFnV6oJ4b-oYlT2DrEoPY1Ej0AGwZeM/s320/WIllieJennings.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">Willie Jennings has an eloquent comment: “In a
quiet corner of the Roman Empire, in the home of a centurion, a rip in the
fabric of space and time has occurred. All those who would worship Jesus may
enter a new vision of intimate space and a new time that will open up endless
new possibilities of life with others.” How hopeful (for them, and for us!) is the
phrase, “even on the Gentiles”! </span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Psa</span><span style="font-family: georgia;">lm
98</span></b><span style="font-family: georgia;"> is … Easter-ish? A new song, God has done marvelous things. I’d
linger over “his right hand and his holy arm getting him victory.” Jesus’
hands, extended to touch a leper, to heal the sick, to embrace the lonely, a
gesture in teaching, lifted in prayer, then pierced by nails, his arm extended
around people and then across the crossbeam as he was crucified. This is “in
the sight of the nations” – or was it at their hands? Or ours?</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhANe1s0Ucje3ZKXMleo3hD1uH6ufA-ZZKyEY6z-VGWMTncSzubMvKkV8Ld71s-wjQOTRnATDTi_R4viy60jA67DTVWHKvSd7PWTmBOJsEWYlrz_Pt-3u8VVpKI5SvKq345oDf-2DrHFEEJY5O_uOp1Zg6oSnwPyUH01BsQAGQQxhD8qQskAfs005AKPgU/s300/martin-luther-king-jr-9365086-2-402.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhANe1s0Ucje3ZKXMleo3hD1uH6ufA-ZZKyEY6z-VGWMTncSzubMvKkV8Ld71s-wjQOTRnATDTi_R4viy60jA67DTVWHKvSd7PWTmBOJsEWYlrz_Pt-3u8VVpKI5SvKq345oDf-2DrHFEEJY5O_uOp1Zg6oSnwPyUH01BsQAGQQxhD8qQskAfs005AKPgU/s1600/martin-luther-king-jr-9365086-2-402.jpg" width="300" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> The
idea of this “new song” reminds me of a sermon a very young Martin Luther King,
Jr. preached at his dad’s Ebenezer Baptist Church, entitled “How the Christian
Overcomes Evil.” It was punctuated with an illustration from mythology. The
sirens lured sailors onto the rocks and devastating shipwreck. Two managed to
navigate those waters safely. Ulysses stuffed wax into his rowers’ ears, and
strapped himself to the mast of the ship. But that’s not the Christian’s way.
We can’t just shut out the world, or cling to some notion of Bible authority.
No, we look to Orpheus who, as the sirens began to sing, pulled out his lyre
and played a more beautiful tune, so the rowers listened to him and did not
notice the sirens.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: georgia; mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1i0vDHLma1lRahvRA9UsLhYmrHz7T3QiXkStgI912Sc5MJ9-kuPqTilSrdGuLzSegtLlzEnkn7xHoyCI1k_LiKlDDroOY9hYZqqePVl9Nhfei06PCU3-5msehU8OO615wd1pErb2_-WLAtLgEdDFweqAgl-6usiEMwTz9heJOtkjS2RlrWd720ZU0RPw/s750/WendyFarley.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="563" data-original-width="750" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1i0vDHLma1lRahvRA9UsLhYmrHz7T3QiXkStgI912Sc5MJ9-kuPqTilSrdGuLzSegtLlzEnkn7xHoyCI1k_LiKlDDroOY9hYZqqePVl9Nhfei06PCU3-5msehU8OO615wd1pErb2_-WLAtLgEdDFweqAgl-6usiEMwTz9heJOtkjS2RlrWd720ZU0RPw/s320/WendyFarley.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> I would commend to you Wendy
Farley’s marvelous book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Beguiled by
Beauty</i>, in which she weighs the way beauty, noticing it, letting it come
into play in the mundane realities of a busy life still with some moments of
meditation and prayer, informs everything from faith to social
justice. {My "<a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/wendy-farley/id1497598414?i=1000509225163">Maybe
I'm Amazed" podcast</a> convo with her was just terrific!}</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">1 John 5:1-6</b>. Interesting how this
epistle frames things: God and Christ as parent and child, if you love one you
love both. If you love me, you love my child – thinking of Christ, but then all
the children of God! The answer to the question, How will they know we are
Christian? evidently isn’t answered as simply as the hymn “They will know we
are Christians by our love,” but “that we love the children of God.” See the
difference?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The “conquerors” language makes me uneasy,
reminding me of bold Christians I’ve known “claiming” answers to prayer, as if
God were their performing pet. Can “love” do something overpowering, like
conquering? Or is “conquer” being radically redefined before our very eyes?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Love
is commanded. It doesn’t just happen – or not happen. Paul Victor Furnish
(in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Love Commandment in the New
Testament</i>): “Christian love isn’t a heat-seeking missile that directs
itself to something inherently attractive, but perhaps especially to the
unlovely and those who see themselves as unlovable.” The love Jesus talks about
is the love Jesus embodied, and if we approximate this love, we approximate all
he was about.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> How
do we love God? It seems different from love for other people, or my child or
spouse or friend, as it’s not a feeling or even a doing-for, but obeying God’s
commandments. Commandments aren’t this external code I should adhere to to stay
out of trouble, feel pious or judge others. It’s how I enact my love. Really,
our earthly relationships bear a similar dynamic, don’t they? If I love my
wife, I follow the commandment to be faithful, to help with the dishes, to
listen, etc. If the love is genuine, and robust, this commandment fulfillment
isn’t burdensome but a great joy – as illustrated in Psalm 19. And isn’t there
a lovely echo of Matthew 11:28-30 here – of Jesus’ welcoming the weary with his
light burden?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj57-9cXX1WEQ0zBQnUeCjnRbO8mji2LKXycbdr8_75ecqNEftN-X6FTcbDmFtxpLoBb7f3ZHUEKc2j13IcIjFtLqpxJCygUrSeW4y6ZM9ECPdhLOQKLVUu-J8TUy3_61DkEav-yZKNpnE5P6WUOlfWWRgxQPYlkAdjw-DAk9XATdtZ5Ut_COG7GrN3Wtc/s3960/KavinRoweSeriousPreferred.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3960" data-original-width="2640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj57-9cXX1WEQ0zBQnUeCjnRbO8mji2LKXycbdr8_75ecqNEftN-X6FTcbDmFtxpLoBb7f3ZHUEKc2j13IcIjFtLqpxJCygUrSeW4y6ZM9ECPdhLOQKLVUu-J8TUy3_61DkEav-yZKNpnE5P6WUOlfWWRgxQPYlkAdjw-DAk9XATdtZ5Ut_COG7GrN3Wtc/s320/KavinRoweSeriousPreferred.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">John 15:9-17</b>. When we
ponder the Last Supper, we reflect on the meal, the footwashing, and Jesus’
words of hope about mansions in heaven or sending the Advocate. Jesus actually
expends a lot of his air time talking about commandments. When he said “If you
keep my commandments, you abide in my love,” what did the disciples infer that
he meant? Jesus’ commandments would have been identical to the Torah, but with
immense depth. No adultery? No lust. No killing? No anger. Loving your enemy.
Giving up your coat. Finding the lost sheep. Welcome the prodigal home. Not
being smug like the smug. Taking up a cross. Losing your life. I think a sermon
could poke around in all of these and more. Not vague love, or generalized
goodness or niceness. Something more radical, startling, full-bodied. As Kavin
Rowe put it, “Human life is just too hard to have a boring Christianity.” An
un-boring “love” has its requirements to love, rules, boundaries, habits, and
thus surprises and long-term joys.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Jesus
isn’t wagging a finger, urging us to behave ourselves. It’s “that your joy may
be complete.” The Greek, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">plerothe</i>,
means full, overflowing. It’s not Do this and you’ll be swimmingly happy, or it
will be great fun. Joy is richer, deeper, sustainable during the darkest days,
undefeatable by circumstance. If it feels like pressure to feel this way, we’ve
missed the point. It’s a gift. The fruit of the Spirit (echoed in Jesus’ words
here!)? Love, and there it is: Joy. A gift you discover has happened in you
when you were fixated on something else – or rather, on someone else, not
yourself, but Jesus. Our people are mostly joyless, as are we clergy. Perhaps
the recovery of joy as a thing, in preaching, in church life, is the secret to
Christianity not being so boring.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Jesus
calls them friends. I’ll close with this rumination, excerpted from my new book
on the theology of our hymns, on what friendship with Jesus looks like and is
about:<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCSBIislhERD7TH62gTKRvSHjhyvfvdiTs3THVEe5o0Jve_gvT7gDQ5hhU5ayjw5Vgrjjli0RI7AmQIHLAt8ukYIVlvwRgc5n_SbteZQROp631IWxSx9yRIJze7sPfUfqXm0bkXbwUyRSbLSX2lRXypFHZN46JnD6MeBKEH74jkcFICgFbvW6tr1GWRk/s745/UNREVEALEDcover.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="745" data-original-width="532" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTCSBIislhERD7TH62gTKRvSHjhyvfvdiTs3THVEe5o0Jve_gvT7gDQ5hhU5ayjw5Vgrjjli0RI7AmQIHLAt8ukYIVlvwRgc5n_SbteZQROp631IWxSx9yRIJze7sPfUfqXm0bkXbwUyRSbLSX2lRXypFHZN46JnD6MeBKEH74jkcFICgFbvW6tr1GWRk/s320/UNREVEALEDcover.PNG" width="229" /></a></i></div><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> <span style="font-family: georgia;">At the Last Supper, Jesus
tells the disciples “No longer do I call you servants… but I have called you
friends” (John 15:15a). Up to this moment, Jesus has given them good cause to
think of him as Lord, God, Word incarnate, Light of the World, Savior. This
utterly magnificent, inspiring, divine one invites them to see him as a friend.
What could he mean?<o:p></o:p></span></i><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> For us, a “friend” might
be someone you have fun with, someone who likes what you like, someone like
you, someone easy to be around. But such friendships can be thin. We hold back
from going very deep, not wanting to risk disagreement. So we stick to chatter
about food, ballgames, lifestyle nuggets. Or we find our way into little
enclaves of people who agree with us, echo chambers for our biases, feeding our
narcissism. Isn’t it true that if you only hang around with people like you,
you become ignorant and arrogant?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Ancient philosophers like
Socrates defined “friend” as someone who helps you to become good and wise.
Aristotle wrote that the opposite of a friend is a flatterer. Christian
thinkers, from St. Augustine to Søren Kierkegaard, thought of friends as those
who help you to love God, and whom you help to love God. Paul Wadell reminds us
that “Friendship is the crucible of the moral life.” You become the people you
befriend. It’s formative. If Jesus is your friend, you become like him,
touching untouchables, seeing through fake religiosity, prayerful, generous,
ready to lose everything to do the will of your Father.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> The secret to young
Methodism’s vitality was that John Wesley wisely insisted that people get
organized into small groups to share in the quest for holiness. We need friends
who care about and dare to cultivate wisdom, and holiness, to hold one another
accountable for progress toward Jesus our shared friend. Jesus explained why he
would be calling the disciples friends: “For all that I have heard from my
Father I have made known to you” (John 15:15b). Friends share God’s knowledge.
They are learners, egging one another on to more expansive understandings of
the heart of God.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Aelred of Rievaulx, a twelfth
century Cistercian, said to his friend Ivo, “Here we are, you and I,
and I hope a third, Christ, is in our midst.” What would it be like if Christ,
the third, were in your friendships? Whom are we called to befriend, if Jesus,
befriender of a scandalously diverse grab bag of people, is our friend? G.K.
Chesterton wryly declared that St. Francis liked everybody, but especially
those others disliked him for liking. Sounds like a friend of Jesus.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> When Jesus is our friend,
we celebrate differences with friends. You disagree? Instead of drifting away,
we friends of Jesus labor toward reconciliation, knowing Jesus didn’t run off
when we were difficult or thought wrong or were less than faithful. Martin
Luther King’s insight, “Love is the only force capable of transforming an enemy
into a friend,” makes me wonder how many friends I’ve missed out on.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> What are the habits of
friendship? They eat together. We dine with Jesus at the Lord’s Supper, and
hopefully at all our meals with friends. We dare to be vulnerable. Brené Brown
has drawn quite a following by simply reminding us that friendship never
happens without the courageous risk of vulnerability, candor, sharing. “What a
privilege to carry everything to God in prayer,” and what a privilege to carry
everything to a friend down here over dinner. Jesus “knows our every weakness”
(echoing Heb. 4:15), inspiring us toward friendships here that know weakness
and love.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Friendship is encouragement.
“We should never be discouraged.” The tenderest way Jesus our friend alleviates
our discouragement is when a friend encourages. And friendship is sacrifice.
Jesus, the best friend ever, said “Greater love has no man than to lay down his
life for his friends” (John 15:13) – and then he went out into the night to be
arrested, tried and crucified – for us, his friends. What is Lent, and every
season, if not being drawn into a deeper friendship with Jesus?</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>{Here endeth the book excerpt! In that same
book I have a rumination on “Abide with Me,” which fits this text as well!}<o:p></o:p></span></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-51598622004336567962024-01-01T02:05:00.000-08:002024-01-11T18:09:06.305-08:00What can we say May 12? Easter 7<p><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH3dy7lnGljL8F0kN3xVe0YZx9fpLizIx5pzOcXX8gzSnF0DWqDyJnvITZgxY3hxzbbWNf59IcdgEj1ygKZ6gvgRXeNyI7qmZSF7Uv8LiHU8_gSZZfkzpqVXX2kMDTG4ML0rNF2-ujRl6SDrb-0QhGr0DWOzFsvTNTkvcjnmcGwdvKz53olfchm74Ct8Y/s857/sassoferrato.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="724" data-original-width="857" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhH3dy7lnGljL8F0kN3xVe0YZx9fpLizIx5pzOcXX8gzSnF0DWqDyJnvITZgxY3hxzbbWNf59IcdgEj1ygKZ6gvgRXeNyI7qmZSF7Uv8LiHU8_gSZZfkzpqVXX2kMDTG4ML0rNF2-ujRl6SDrb-0QhGr0DWOzFsvTNTkvcjnmcGwdvKz53olfchm74Ct8Y/s320/sassoferrato.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Yes, it's Mother's Day - and our texts give us the chance to name mothers without glorifying mothers...? Mary is among the early Christians gathered to decide what to do next in Acts 1. Can we ruminate on her a bit? I can never think of any better way to take note of it being Mother's Day than to reflect a while on the mother of all mothers, the mother of our Lord. No big moral takeaways. Just her, her life with him, her life after he's gone.</span><p></p><p> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Acts 1:15-17, 21-26</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> narrates the
choice – by the casting of lots – of Matthias to fill out the twelve, Judas
having turned out to be… Judas. Jesus clearly didn’t have precisely 12 – count
‘em! – disciples at every moment in time. It’s a symbolic number. And yet the
simple existence of 12, even if we fudge and 3 others have tagged along,
embodies Jesus’ mission to redeem the people of Israel. I like things like
this: the church, simply by being the church, fulfills God’s vision for
redemption. What if we chose our leaders for our congregations this way? How
boring is it to put bankers and accountants on Finance? What if you put the
person no good with numbers but with a passion for the poor on Finance? The
kingdom might just dawn.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Our
two Johannine texts leave me a little cold. It’s as if Jesus, and then John,
tried to be philosophically reflective, offering high-minded but rambling
explications of intimate relationships within God and with us. Confounding,
possessive pronouns abounding.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> There
are little tidbits pregnant with preaching possibility. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">1 John 5:9-13</b> is fixated on
“testimony.” The Greek is the same as “martyr.” And, the testimony in question
is that “God gave us eternal life, in his Son.” That’s worth unpacking. Most
Christians think of eternal life as quite distinguished from the Son, or at
most that it was the Son’s death and resurrection that opened up the path to
heaven. But this eternal life is in God’s Son, not me living on forever playing
golf or enjoying my family. It’s finding myself in him, in his Body, so it’s
all about the Son, nothing else – and it will be way more than enough.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">John 17:6-19</b> intrigues. Jesus – on
the last night of his earthly life, at the Last Supper – says of the followers
God gave him, “I have been glorified in them.” Really? You’d think he’d be
embarrassed all the time. This text explores the “in but not of the world”
notion. Most of my people, me included, are very much <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in</i> the world and most assuredly <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">of</i>
the world too! Or they are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">of</i> the
world and so therefore not much <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">in</i>
the world as Jesus’ witnesses. I love to picture John writing all this. “I
protected them; not one was lost!” – at which point the secretary interjected,
“Uh, what about Judas?” “Oh, right, he lost one. But that was God’s plan.”
Problems abound.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJdlaMEjDzH6zcWSXjzCfwoMKF5Pb9EcBKjKEXsxZV2CeG2dfhWmB53HHKhyPObEWMj0MiYXYOVteuAaID0LTY0RsPAaWVpeBuL0XcSjgoctbP5XOmb8EeN_HodBIfHjBz2e2bRkdZfRUNE_h9ywEXXTnCVJJ_yHLNhbOhrjGsonwsBdLVWuWs9-7SE9Q/s499/PreachingThePsalms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJdlaMEjDzH6zcWSXjzCfwoMKF5Pb9EcBKjKEXsxZV2CeG2dfhWmB53HHKhyPObEWMj0MiYXYOVteuAaID0LTY0RsPAaWVpeBuL0XcSjgoctbP5XOmb8EeN_HodBIfHjBz2e2bRkdZfRUNE_h9ywEXXTnCVJJ_yHLNhbOhrjGsonwsBdLVWuWs9-7SE9Q/s320/PreachingThePsalms.jpg" width="214" /></a></div> So I
will preach, as I’m fond of doing, on the Psalter: <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Psalm 1</b>. My book, co-authored with Clint McCann, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Preaching-Psalms-James-C-Howell/dp/0687044995">Preaching
the Psalms</a></i>, is still in print, and not bad! Psalm 1 is the exception
among the Psalms, being a blessing more than a prayer. It mirrors what we read
in Proverbs and the life of wisdom, the choice between two ways. Wisdom is so
worthwhile to explore in preaching. If I ask rhetorically, Can you name smart
people? Or good looking people? Or successful people? my listeners nod. Then
I’ll say But can you name someone who is wise? They look befuddled. Most, if
pressed, resort to somebody who’s dead: my grandmother was wise!<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHj9zLmtCQg10K1KQ9P0VESMSgXVkx8owjeOt_NfxNjeYzAqUuh6rrluZqLjS11-b8oKPWeUUrbwDXHAsWR4Nr2gZgG9Tn4Vnt28K0qNrulwhZsSvsSz0_nT0qX5EhyphenhyphenWUY1zJCXG7_T2EMYOrFfAwuLBzCqrqBCQVs6nj3u4xzufgECsLg1JYlnQ0kA7w/s499/Wesley1VolComm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="341" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHj9zLmtCQg10K1KQ9P0VESMSgXVkx8owjeOt_NfxNjeYzAqUuh6rrluZqLjS11-b8oKPWeUUrbwDXHAsWR4Nr2gZgG9Tn4Vnt28K0qNrulwhZsSvsSz0_nT0qX5EhyphenhyphenWUY1zJCXG7_T2EMYOrFfAwuLBzCqrqBCQVs6nj3u4xzufgECsLg1JYlnQ0kA7w/s320/Wesley1VolComm.jpg" width="219" /></a></div> What
is wisdom, anyhow? In my introduction to Proverbs in the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wesley One Volume Commentary</i>, I wrote
“Ralph Waldo Emerson mocked Harvard as having ‘all the branches of knowledge,
but none of the roots.’ Wisdom is deep underground, not just lying around on
the surface. Wisdom thinks about the purpose of life. Wisdom is serenity and
patience. Wisdom must be cultivated over the length of life. Wisdom treasures
what is old, believing what is ancient survived for good reason. Wisdom is born
out of the cauldron of experience: hard times, grief and sacrifice. You can’t
just pick up an idea and suddenly become wise the way you crack open a fortune
cookie. You live it, wait on it, test it, let it seep in from the good earth
through the soles of your feet. You begin to notice you are becoming one with
God who is Wisdom.”<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Our
Psalm speaks of the one who is “happy” or “blessed.” The Hebrew, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘ashre</i>, is echoed in Jesus’ Beatitudes,
which aren’t directives on how to be happy or blessed. Jesus looks at those who
are poor in spirit or merciful, and he blesses them. The Psalm looks at the
wise life, and pronounces God’s blessing. It’s not a still life entirely. It’s
a way (the Hebrew is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">derek</i>) – a
road, a moving forward. I love Pasolini’s great Italian film The Gospel
according to St. Matthew, where Jesus is always walking briskly, teaching over
his shoulders to breathless disciples trying to keep up. And yet this moving way
is also a sigh. It involves meditating, the Hebrew <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">hagah</i> meaning to breathe, to sigh.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">
I’ll illustrate with someone like a man in my first parish. I asked him
once how he came to be so wise. As wise people do, he demurred, professing I’m
not wise. When I pressed him, he said <i>Well, I go to work early in the morning.
When I get home, I do some chores around the house. After dinner I help my wife
clean up, then I go down into my basement, where I pull up an empty peach
crate. I sit on it for a couple of hours, and just think</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHxTe4UNDzxv66DXW2LaAHQbNHTxuIU5BoKRoHNI_K3ui5oEjdCVOfHsK6QR2FLZwvuBm0uwmjUpIwN866rlvTNPULr2Wzl_tTPpsm620GBaA0I4-qxpTGLWAqjOB9wX_k_56d0Tas93BgvqoC2fox4uQDnSyfq61kgYh68iENIcm-vkm2T5oTqsev_MA/s330/EllenCharry.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="330" data-original-width="300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHxTe4UNDzxv66DXW2LaAHQbNHTxuIU5BoKRoHNI_K3ui5oEjdCVOfHsK6QR2FLZwvuBm0uwmjUpIwN866rlvTNPULr2Wzl_tTPpsm620GBaA0I4-qxpTGLWAqjOB9wX_k_56d0Tas93BgvqoC2fox4uQDnSyfq61kgYh68iENIcm-vkm2T5oTqsev_MA/s320/EllenCharry.png" width="291" /></a></div> The
Psalm’s vivid image is of a tree planted by the water – a reminder that wisdom
happens underground, unseen, not flashy on the surface. Ellen Charry’s comment
(in her consistently splendid Brazos commentary on Psalms 1-50) is
spot on: “Even if God is silent in the short term, the faithful triumph
spiritually because they are the strong trees that bear fruit and vibrant
leaves; they know themselves to be so, and that is rewarding.”<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEX8eo3GS-Sg8qnYnGfqO3xUHXPCbCG1vIwHkTFkIdgACPZ_9H16LfTon0UbDRe9CCHycXwllxsI_QlTEDBnJY1o5okViVseH2ycBpUQ6D-do6mj9SaWY2ntOOVIBVG5d2bhQOsNLPoV8ARsask4yqBb9K6WKLqW0BxJjFpr_SocDEJNAocueeKVsLNwY/s320/Ents.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEX8eo3GS-Sg8qnYnGfqO3xUHXPCbCG1vIwHkTFkIdgACPZ_9H16LfTon0UbDRe9CCHycXwllxsI_QlTEDBnJY1o5okViVseH2ycBpUQ6D-do6mj9SaWY2ntOOVIBVG5d2bhQOsNLPoV8ARsask4yqBb9K6WKLqW0BxJjFpr_SocDEJNAocueeKVsLNwY/s1600/Ents.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> I won’t be able to resist alluding
to J.R.R. Tolkien’s Ents, those tree-like beings who help save the day
in The Lord of the Rings. Treebeard explains their peculiar language,
Entish: “It’s a lovely language, but it takes a very long time to say anything
in it, because we do not say anything in it, unless it is worth taking a long
time to say, and to listen to.” Of course, I’ll drag those quote out, so very
slowly, to drive home the point.<o:p></o:p><p></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-76482630197769269102024-01-01T02:03:00.000-08:002024-01-21T15:34:11.449-08:00What can we say May 19? Pentecost<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0yIjKktGxRcfxBIPjD3WMMOl8aAlhvfpfVCvKU4lh6MLH1IqmGbMkQuKTpP3-Yt9Cz1yEb1hf64fdmyYnSGDfheId06-J9_EkrvnMCsbAv-WAUEU7AqwXDe0RzDkxKac1U9ruB9fTlUGVGrlBI0In1UYea9G9rTLEm0ig0E6vQ2jmCI-T3Xe0Znx1YM/s320/Babel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="256" data-original-width="320" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix0yIjKktGxRcfxBIPjD3WMMOl8aAlhvfpfVCvKU4lh6MLH1IqmGbMkQuKTpP3-Yt9Cz1yEb1hf64fdmyYnSGDfheId06-J9_EkrvnMCsbAv-WAUEU7AqwXDe0RzDkxKac1U9ruB9fTlUGVGrlBI0In1UYea9G9rTLEm0ig0E6vQ2jmCI-T3Xe0Znx1YM/s1600/Babel.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Acts
2:1-21</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">. I’ve heard myself, from the pulpit, declare that Pentecost is the “reversal
of Babel.” But then am I saying diversity is a problem to be fixed? At
Pentecost, the miracle is understanding, not sameness. God delights in
diversity and understanding. A far cry from the dominant ones saying “You must
speak our language here.”</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Willie Jennings names Acts 2 as “the
epicenter of the revolution,” “the revolution of the intimate.” God breaks
everybody open so they can become a radically new, welcoming, fully engaged
community. The disciples have no grand strategy. God just did this. It was
uncontrollable – like the wind, with immense if unseen power.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9CpnF8Huz1e-bAodvNoA1zqUWiAJqx_SePA6qOXlbYj21pfZjwVV_Xhyphenhyphen1yV0S5VVygHXMHnTyBEqbafCkTkxKPMnsByEwGmCjl992W7tR66vReVB11ywi7Uy-Eq2R1QpDdNAZgjy6bemvSQbZ5N_FRhE28jn2bFuUHY5KAWrS2Ru0NAwGuU572As44A/s1800/WIllieJennings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9CpnF8Huz1e-bAodvNoA1zqUWiAJqx_SePA6qOXlbYj21pfZjwVV_Xhyphenhyphen1yV0S5VVygHXMHnTyBEqbafCkTkxKPMnsByEwGmCjl992W7tR66vReVB11ywi7Uy-Eq2R1QpDdNAZgjy6bemvSQbZ5N_FRhE28jn2bFuUHY5KAWrS2Ru0NAwGuU572As44A/s320/WIllieJennings.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> Jennings
suggestively reminds us that, even if they’d asked for the Holy Spirit, they
never asked for this! This is “untamed grace,” as all grace, ultimately is. He
hears an echo of Mary learning the Spirit had “overshadowed her.” The Spirit
transforms not just the ears, but mouths and bodies. God is like “the lead
dancer, taking hold of her partners, drawing them close and saying Step this
way.”<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Clergy
dig Pentecost – and yet, as mainline Protestants, don’t we suffer s kind of
reticence about the Holy Spirit? Which isn’t wrongheaded: I’ve heard so much
sappy chatter in my lifetime about who’s got the Spirit (and thus who doesn’t),
where the Spirit is (and thus isn’t), powerful emotional experiences that feel
to me to be more about intuition and native-born gushing than a movement of the
Spirit – so then, perhaps in the way Protestants have barely spoken of Mary in
order not to be Catholic, I’ve shied away so as not to be confused with the emotivism
that dominates so much of American religiosity. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’re rightly wary of trivial, emotional
claims of the Spirit’s movement – or self-indulgent, closeted views. Yet in our
wise wariness, do we miss the Spirit? Or trivialize it ourselves: oh, the
Spirit led me to speak to the cashier who was so grateful I was warm to her? Do
we dress up the worship space in red – or our people in red – and pat ourselves
on the back for having done Pentecost once more?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37uqiSpZYuiuM7Tdl_P3PAPM8BL9OIRgURzjAYBiMLXhDlEbQCynarTYfv8SnFYyDjTALAFY2N2OFFS5qi1nhENZGjAv9G7EMHFFCMH5R91AnWLwoXR0oWFgPVw6jJVaN0ifa0lSDwRJoH5Pk9IxigsIMqFDL-q_B-NMSTHHyPkZyNeBxPsCPPFVAYME/s320/MarkNollNewShapeXy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="214" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37uqiSpZYuiuM7Tdl_P3PAPM8BL9OIRgURzjAYBiMLXhDlEbQCynarTYfv8SnFYyDjTALAFY2N2OFFS5qi1nhENZGjAv9G7EMHFFCMH5R91AnWLwoXR0oWFgPVw6jJVaN0ifa0lSDwRJoH5Pk9IxigsIMqFDL-q_B-NMSTHHyPkZyNeBxPsCPPFVAYME/s1600/MarkNollNewShapeXy.jpg" width="214" /></a></div> Broaden
your homiletical thinking via Mark Noll’s summary of how Christianity has
spread to other, very different places: “Christianity appears more and more as
an essentially pluralistic and cross-cultural faith. It appeared first in Asia,
then Africa and Europe. Immediately those who turned to Christ in these ‘new’
regions were at home in the faith. When they became believers, Christianity
itself became Asian, European and African. Once Christianity is rooted in
someplace new, the faith itself also takes on something from that new place. It
also challenges, reforms and humanizes the cultural values of that place. The
Gospel comes to each person and to all peoples exactly where they are. You do
not have to stop being American, Japanese, German, or Terra del Fuegian in
order to become a Christian. Instead, they all find rich resources in
Christianity that are perfectly fitted for their own cultural situations. It is
by its nature a religion of nearly infinite flexibility because it has been revealed
in a person of absolutely infinite love.”<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtyLmnhDVDYpSQZPUn488NB0rLdQOS7LEKpkDDQFACEmUbUg3I6Xx-MpCaJR1bJnTX2WnAiUTF_iqlmFA1FTSW4VVByyJVBpHxroOd7MW135RPfA2a96TJnbZnMz3CqDI0zHPh-qz23QR8HCX2wKsMYB4gNAFKpzozSIr5O_yUV29O7qk3gZD5Mr6naM/s800/thomas-merton-800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNtyLmnhDVDYpSQZPUn488NB0rLdQOS7LEKpkDDQFACEmUbUg3I6Xx-MpCaJR1bJnTX2WnAiUTF_iqlmFA1FTSW4VVByyJVBpHxroOd7MW135RPfA2a96TJnbZnMz3CqDI0zHPh-qz23QR8HCX2wKsMYB4gNAFKpzozSIr5O_yUV29O7qk3gZD5Mr6naM/s320/thomas-merton-800.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> For
Thomas Merton, Pentecost is more listening than talking: “The mystery of speech
and silence is resolved in Acts. Pentecost is the solution. The problem of
language is the problem of sin. The problem of silence is also a problem of
love. How can one really know whether to speak or not, and whether words and
silence are for good or for evil, unless one understands the 2 divisions of
tongues – Babel and Pentecost. Acts is a book full of speech. The apostles down
downstairs and out into the street like an avalanche… Before the sun had set,
they had baptized 3000 souls out of Babel into the One Body of Christ.”<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> When
rethinking Pentecost, it’s worth recalling that, in Judaism, Pentecost is the
day that commemorates the giving of the Torah on Mt. Sinai. And don’t be
tempted to say We have the Spirit, the law is kaput. The Spirit
enables the fulfillment of the law; have you read Matthew 5?? The
Spirit doesn’t unleash a burst of emotion; the Spirit plants and grows holiness
in us. “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness,
gentleness, self-control” (Gal. 5). He/she is the “Spirit of Holiness”
(Rom. 1:4).<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Growing
things? Pentecost was also the celebration of a harvest. The Spirit, when
you were sleeping, caused things to grow – and we humbly give thanks to God for
the fruit of the earth. Do you garden? Or do you know someone who
farms? Tell your people about the Spirit moving over the fields.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Romans
8:22-27</b>. For Paul, this same Spirit does amazing, tender, desperately
needed work in each Christian's soul – and on the Church! And even in the world. Romans
8 in its entirety is a deep ocean we'll never fully sail across or understand
its depths. Back in verse 15, sadly not in today's lectionary sectioning,
the Spirit undercuts any sense that we are docile slaves, and any slavery to
anything not of God; the Spirit stirs in us the reality that we are
adopted into God's family - the greatest privilege of which is being able to
pray with the same intimacy to God that Jesus exhibited. The Spirit
invites and liberates us to pray, "Abba! Father!" <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> And
then Paul, so powerfully, speaks of the Spirit groaning within us, helping us
in our weakness, sighing in us when we are clueless how or what to pray.
Wow. I have used this often during the pandemic, and people resonate. When
you sigh, in despair (as it feels to you!), this is actually God’s Spirit
praying in you. Oh my. Such comfort, and hope. "Spirit of the living God,
fall afresh on me" - please, and now. "Spirit of God, descend upon my
heart; wean it from earth; through all its pulses move. Stoop to my weakness,
mighty as Thou art, and make me love Thee as I ought to love."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidRf6k2TBcb8-DDNcVJ5r5iSYptP_dwQk8mC60F85kSETn8WBfw5wAuHpqAL5bqcbUn1Rw1QxBhLJ87L6vDQDFp89b7f2XdEIipos1QRuph6Xf7sruwsOGhDrFL4FpqhBv10NdbDpkMIFKGYjl9tQ8sKX2G8_I0VHHrfz5qUljZIlxf2fLSnrEbDxE9zQ/s252/Gandalf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="252" data-original-width="200" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidRf6k2TBcb8-DDNcVJ5r5iSYptP_dwQk8mC60F85kSETn8WBfw5wAuHpqAL5bqcbUn1Rw1QxBhLJ87L6vDQDFp89b7f2XdEIipos1QRuph6Xf7sruwsOGhDrFL4FpqhBv10NdbDpkMIFKGYjl9tQ8sKX2G8_I0VHHrfz5qUljZIlxf2fLSnrEbDxE9zQ/s1600/Gandalf.jpg" width="200" /></a></div> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">John 15:26-16:15</b>. If
we fast-forward a little to the Gospel text: at the Ascension, Jesus leaves,
and the disciples must carry on down here - perhaps the way Gandalf kept
leaving the hobbits to fend for themselves, trusting them with the fate of
Middle Earth! But we are never as alone as they were. The Spirit
Jesus leaves behind does amazing things, according to John 15-16. The
Spirit bears witness to Jesus - so the pressure isn't all on us! The
Spirit convinces the world of sin - and us who are in the world but not good at
being not of the world.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Jesus
tantalizes by suggesting things will be even better for the disciples once he's
gone! Why shouldn’t Jesus just stay? “Only through the internal presence of the
Paraclete do the disciples come to understand Jesus fully” (Raymond Brown). The
Spirit's business isn't a starring role anyhow. The Spirit is deferential,
glorifying the Father and the Son, like the stage director you never see but
who makes the show unfold and keeps the stars in the bright lights, looking
good.<o:p></o:p></span></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-42809109907817180712024-01-01T02:01:00.000-08:002024-01-27T15:42:30.886-08:00What can we say May 26? Trinity Sunday<p> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> As a
young preacher, I would take a stab at explaining the Holy Trinity during my
Trinity Sunday sermon. A fool’s errand. This is a classroom exercise. I
teach sometimes on the Trinity – but in a class setting. Mind you,
there are texts that assume God’s Threeness and the lovely, moving
interrelatedness that is the heart of God. Romans 8:12-17, our
epistle for the day is one of them. The Spirit leads and speaks in
our spirit so we know we are, just as Jesus was, children of the heavenly
Father – whom we are invited to speak to intimately: Abba!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSWDaSF3dnmtKcCNc00r3driKC2NBmHW9UOElby_nNxJZ8URThwbPbMsPqE82SAeRKccwfjIR3bduEun6o9jdd9FvOi8TbmaMRTuFuPbEk-CL-pbZXjEZjWVptBcU6Ur_vhP4NQNM-bJFSP-ixrPb914qtzPSnAg6uHmV6ki5pu0pu9vGpGJURap6_2uM/s320/JeremyBegbie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="213" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSWDaSF3dnmtKcCNc00r3driKC2NBmHW9UOElby_nNxJZ8URThwbPbMsPqE82SAeRKccwfjIR3bduEun6o9jdd9FvOi8TbmaMRTuFuPbEk-CL-pbZXjEZjWVptBcU6Ur_vhP4NQNM-bJFSP-ixrPb914qtzPSnAg6uHmV6ki5pu0pu9vGpGJURap6_2uM/s1600/JeremyBegbie.jpg" width="213" /></a></div> For the sermon, we do as we always do,
explicating the text. The Holy Trinity is there, same as every Sunday. I think,
during my sermon, I'll ask my musicians to help me with the best
"explanation" I've heard, which isn't words but musical notes. Jeremy
Begbie points out that if you sing a C, the note fills the whole room, no more
in one place than another. If you add the E and then the G, each note fills the
room, one doesn't crowd out the other - and the chord they form together are
far more lovely than the single note. God the Trinity is like that. Same 3
first notes, by the way, of the hymn we'll sing, "Holy, Holy, Holy."<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh541XAWD3WqB8u9-fP42ZGbJVefZLBL-4dyvYhoIg2C66oDaXS-Pt40JIDSn-3QUxuxJ5AWYa8Fil9VLRTNUpQIIbubSsiKKPkbrnXHdpELht8_iqCRQ0b0Z_Bf3vrMaLl8x3TAqN8JGykexYOdnJUm8uG4FaD97oMnIvTDKKczzCcD6n2FIdPWYd3EVk/s531/TomLangford.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="531" data-original-width="439" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh541XAWD3WqB8u9-fP42ZGbJVefZLBL-4dyvYhoIg2C66oDaXS-Pt40JIDSn-3QUxuxJ5AWYa8Fil9VLRTNUpQIIbubSsiKKPkbrnXHdpELht8_iqCRQ0b0Z_Bf3vrMaLl8x3TAqN8JGykexYOdnJUm8uG4FaD97oMnIvTDKKczzCcD6n2FIdPWYd3EVk/s320/TomLangford.PNG" width="265" /></a></div> One other memory I can play on: when I was
in seminary we had a talent show each year. A favorite moment came when
students would do impersonations of professors, and we'd guess who was being
impersonated. My friend Pat walked on stage, spoke a complete sentence or two
about the Trinity, then he began incomplete sentences, then took off his
glasses and grimaced as he pressed his hand to his brow. We all rightly guessed
Tom Langford, theology professor who did what preachers should do more of:
embody the fact that we are speaking of something too vast, too complex -
knowable, adorable, but mind-boggling.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihMQVTPNGgmnJbJnW9gCxQNO9IDQOH_5TKFOpVojaVkhovaarYomxIAz30Fk4BFa_EslVgA1S190nSck-ThGJtfuhmlgB8UIcAFc0eNBMg6a6W79CXE7SMXgrkSMMFahIJSvA0d0zrRfIm-QX0J2-GKTMrvoQ5iK1Wgbmqic6n2h6_K_0jOHO0QnaQhVw/s1619/RublevIcon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1619" data-original-width="1300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihMQVTPNGgmnJbJnW9gCxQNO9IDQOH_5TKFOpVojaVkhovaarYomxIAz30Fk4BFa_EslVgA1S190nSck-ThGJtfuhmlgB8UIcAFc0eNBMg6a6W79CXE7SMXgrkSMMFahIJSvA0d0zrRfIm-QX0J2-GKTMrvoQ5iK1Wgbmqic6n2h6_K_0jOHO0QnaQhVw/s320/RublevIcon.jpg" width="257" /></a></div> Clergy
are rightly fond of showing and talking about the lovely Rublev icon. Once I
spoke of it and imagined three bridge players very much wanting to play,
waiting for a fourth – you, me, the church, maybe the
stranger. Makes me a tad uncomfortable, but hey – it’s better than a
three-leaf clover! I wonder about inviting people to imagine a
family of four, but one is missing. They aren’t content, like Hey, we got
75%! That’s pretty good. No, you crave the whole family being
together – especially is one of the four is never coming… God’s Threeness
yearns for the one who’s not yet there, maybe like that shepherd leaving 99
sheep to seek out the one.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> And
then, to complicate everything, it’s Memorial Day weekend! – which creates a
kind of pressure you may or may not enjoy. A while back, after dodging,
coping with and responding to criticism for being… insufficiently patriotic? I
preached <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M7m51oMvxnE">a whole
sermon</a> I’d commend to you explaining a Christian viewpoint on Memorial
Day, which was semi-well-received. If it helped no one else, it helped me
to work through what I will do and won’t do on Sunday morning regarding
patriotic holidays. How do we own it, honor our people, but not
enfranchise an excess of patriotism and a hawkish spirit? Sometimes simply an
illustration from the theater of war will suffice – if carefully chosen.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> <b>Isaiah
6</b> is tabbed for the lectionary surely because the seraph called to the
other seraph, not crying “Holy!” but “Holy, Holy, Holy!” I once
heard a sermon where the preacher bore in on this for a 3-point sermon on the three
aspects of holiness: being set apart, being pure, and then social holiness (a
profoundly Wesleyan emphasis! – works of mercy, advocating for peace and
justice, visiting the prisons, etc.). Tempting and a helpful trellis
on which to grow a sermon! – but not what the seraph was thinking. The
preacher could paint some personal images of what holiness looks like – and I’d
look for the non-traditional, not-so-pious examples from people I’ve known.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPewulFLqCiX0Y4YcBa42-KJNYmNyPpRhJowYlHdhyphenhyphen9tGJHiBAzVafwBz2CXWZKmz-yCHNM0m3izcw6SGRXBGjrWzQrTQvuRSK3_HQ7LvoQOR1Hxyp_7JslKNtfWQ0CkCDOtYBFrgj0_TB5PyjdlykO3cRkIOQU0H9SNT_mpQhB6iKnWc7M56qWL1x6EU/s320/TozerKnowledgeHoly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="212" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPewulFLqCiX0Y4YcBa42-KJNYmNyPpRhJowYlHdhyphenhyphen9tGJHiBAzVafwBz2CXWZKmz-yCHNM0m3izcw6SGRXBGjrWzQrTQvuRSK3_HQ7LvoQOR1Hxyp_7JslKNtfWQ0CkCDOtYBFrgj0_TB5PyjdlykO3cRkIOQU0H9SNT_mpQhB6iKnWc7M56qWL1x6EU/s1600/TozerKnowledgeHoly.jpg" width="212" /></a></div> A
marvelous guide to the holiness of God is A.W. Tozer’s less well-known little
book, <i>The Knowledge of the Holy: The Attributes of God, Their Meaning in
the Christian Life</i>. Chapter by chapter (23 of them in just 117
pages) he explores some holy attribute of God, from God’s mercy to God’s
incomprehensibility, from wisdom to justice, from self-existence to
omniscience. Like turning a precious diamond in your hand, holding
it up to the light, awestruck: we ponder God’s holiness. That alone would make
a terrific sermon.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Isaiah
resonates in so many ways. The text seems ethereal, metaphysical,
this report of being transfixed and transported into the utterly unspeakable
presence of God – and yet it is entirely nailed to a moment in history: “In the
year that King Uzziah died” – a time of political uncertainty, confusion,
threats within and without. At such time, God still speaks; God is
still God. Do we not suffer from political chaos and
instability? What does the Holy God speak to us during such a time?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> The
hotness, the unfathomable mind-blowing that is God’s presence in the holy place
elicits awe – which we don’t know much about. I admire what Amos
Wilder tried to help us see about worship: “Going to church is
like approaching an open volcano where the world is molten and hearts are
sifted. The altar is like a third rail that spatters sparks. The sanctuary is
like the chamber next to the atomic oven: there are invisible rays and you
leave your watch outside.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRszQnaIboNSueYE68DoAAZ7aHCoupzH7e2BTHpjOd-lc7r9lPrBE8Bm-ADCr0HEov5WDnL6g0hXU3XgPLPWNhhXJ-qko92iJhi49jA2sGy_ltSYfuEbpztp-KFHHEBuAiPpbP4pEHKIkGPbPNx9PTz1Kyslrg0RJRbHMSKLlT9SUVmE9XwGfd1eZuLqY/s263/Annie-dillard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="263" data-original-width="175" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRszQnaIboNSueYE68DoAAZ7aHCoupzH7e2BTHpjOd-lc7r9lPrBE8Bm-ADCr0HEov5WDnL6g0hXU3XgPLPWNhhXJ-qko92iJhi49jA2sGy_ltSYfuEbpztp-KFHHEBuAiPpbP4pEHKIkGPbPNx9PTz1Kyslrg0RJRbHMSKLlT9SUVmE9XwGfd1eZuLqY/s1600/Annie-dillard.jpg" width="175" /></a></div> And
then we have Annie Dillard’s suggestion (in <i>Teaching a Stone to Talk</i>):
“The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets,
mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear
ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash
helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they
should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake someday and take
offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return.” Mind
you, no one will walk in the door looking for the sparks or wearing crash
helmets… But somehow, naming it may foster some dim realization in at least a
few who’ve shown up.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Isaiah
6 is yet one more of the Bible’s call narratives that all fit the same pattern:
God unexpected calls, the one called explains why he or she is insufficient,
then God reassures – not that he or she is sufficient, but that God will use
whom God will use. In Isaiah’s case, he senses his unholiness,
rendering him unfit for holy use. When we interview candidates for
ordination, they generally speak of their abilities, education and cool
experience; not many speak of their unworthiness, their unholiness – which
seems to be what this God is looking for, not ability but availability, and
maybe even disability. These thoughts and others led me to
write Weak Enough to Lead – which explores the Bible’s thoughts on
leadership, which are vastly different from, and almost antithetical to ours.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> And
for anyone preaching, the bizarre interaction at the very outset of Isaiah’s
ministry should humble us, discourage us, and bequeath to us great
company. They won’t understand, their hearts are fat, their ears
heavy, their eyes are shut. It will turn out that they won’t get
your message – at least not for a very, very long time. And so it is
with preaching. We preach, not to get results, not to grow the
church, not to gauge my worth or their worth, and certainly not to roll up big
numbers. We preach because God says preach. We preach,
not to see if they like to respond to our preaching, but to please God.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC9xSWIJJNf72I8bMS1PrhWgHz6r3a44iklUQZ3ArrbIelVr4Mds5jvkikUkBreMTb6YRyS1HH8Nk5vde-sV6ZWCwZ8ZkL-AabRZV59Akdpif5wyPpQ7znxx1VpLjc0iFQCii7DXL0o3KmANs1Sx_qcfLeE7EVlYQprg7OsJNLXyJ1U9tu0T2vTjxOJfE/s499/Birth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="324" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC9xSWIJJNf72I8bMS1PrhWgHz6r3a44iklUQZ3ArrbIelVr4Mds5jvkikUkBreMTb6YRyS1HH8Nk5vde-sV6ZWCwZ8ZkL-AabRZV59Akdpif5wyPpQ7znxx1VpLjc0iFQCii7DXL0o3KmANs1Sx_qcfLeE7EVlYQprg7OsJNLXyJ1U9tu0T2vTjxOJfE/s320/Birth.jpg" width="208" /></a></div> <b>Romans
8:12-17 </b>pokes around in the intimacy that is the Holy Trinity. Not
ineffable, infinite beings but Jesus the child in the Spirit’s arms calling God
the Father Abba. Lovely. Paul loves the theme of Adoption. In my book on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Birth: The Mystery of Being Born</i>, I had
some fun pointing out that Leonardo da Vinci, Babe Ruth, Edgar Allan Poe, John
Lennon, Eleanor Roosevelt, James Baldwin, Steve Jobs, Leo Tolstoy, Lafayette,
the Roman emperors Trajan and Hadrian, Aristotle, Confucius, and Nelson Mandela
were adopted. Queen Esther and Superman were adopted, and so was Buddy the Elf,
and Harry Potter. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjORhB3UMF1MO8M3RUi-dBo3wg-HIJtWpES-ZY5kzIbpM-ZYnSg_gjhB52uAlyGxIO-9YtsmrUDlPumPDiPAr_AjpMaMLGk961Fe6zZsijNQXmbR1KTJKVAGblaSviq90ei3ZA_9W7fbKete_NOJ-Klyc2F1_232by3XZR7RdnIGi9VfSVi3SdE_2gIA/s225/KellyNikondeha.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHjORhB3UMF1MO8M3RUi-dBo3wg-HIJtWpES-ZY5kzIbpM-ZYnSg_gjhB52uAlyGxIO-9YtsmrUDlPumPDiPAr_AjpMaMLGk961Fe6zZsijNQXmbR1KTJKVAGblaSviq90ei3ZA_9W7fbKete_NOJ-Klyc2F1_232by3XZR7RdnIGi9VfSVi3SdE_2gIA/s1600/KellyNikondeha.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>Kelly Nikondeha, in her thoughtful and theologically profound
book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Adopted: The Sacrament of
Belonging in a Fractured World</i> reflects on her own quest as a grownup
to seek out the parent who gave her up for adoption: “We want that dark corner
illuminated. We imagine our own transformation at the revelation of our true
origin. What goodness might be unlocked, what possibility
unleashed?” Isn’t church a question to discover our true origin?<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> With
adoption, we get a glimpse of a different kind of belonging, not inferior,
maybe superior, or maybe not. Nikondeha wonderfully suggests that adoption is
“like a sacrament, that visible sign of an inner grace. It’s a thin place where
we see that we are different and yet not entirely foreign to one another. We
are relatives not by blood, but by mystery.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAe_qYM_YlKD2_1HNkVTMouJCratEnWjKJ4_EqrdZemuxa-OQZHfKH_fwHjsDr62xB8KMp9QHDU0XQpMG8UDvLySZmmGbg3FQSdGjW_EBYI7up8gmfrOLGpTt7Pv1WyleH6OtQwDHpYfFfozgGYi56ED1W74jXj6o-Gdjy0lqH1cCUxttga58ZM5JR1L0/s712/Billy-graham.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="712" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAe_qYM_YlKD2_1HNkVTMouJCratEnWjKJ4_EqrdZemuxa-OQZHfKH_fwHjsDr62xB8KMp9QHDU0XQpMG8UDvLySZmmGbg3FQSdGjW_EBYI7up8gmfrOLGpTt7Pv1WyleH6OtQwDHpYfFfozgGYi56ED1W74jXj6o-Gdjy0lqH1cCUxttga58ZM5JR1L0/s320/Billy-graham.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">John 3:1-17</b>. A beloved text. John 3:16
was never the verse until the modern American revival movement – so
chalk it up to Billy Graham I suppose. People adore it – so why not explicate
it carefully? The verse isn’t a problem, although it diminishes the breadth of
the Bible’s vision for us and creation. Or does it? If we read it slowly, we
see it’s better than we dreamed. It doesn’t say “For God so loved you, you
religious person, that he gave his son – that is, had him crucified in your
place – so that whoever believes in him, that is, whoever confesses his sin and
agrees Jesus saves him, will not perish but go to heaven.” Instead it says God
so loved – the world, the <i>kosmos</i>, the whole thing! He gave
his son – but he gave him when the Word became flesh, at Christmas, and in his
healing and teaching, and in his crucifixion and resurrection, which for John
is way more about the glorification of God than me getting off for my sins.
Belief, for John, is way more than mental assent or repentance and feeling
forgiven. It’s following, it’s union with the living Christ, it’s being part of
the Body.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> In
that same <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Birth: The Mystery of
Being Born</i> book, I spent a section ruminating on John 3. An excerpt: ‘The
famous evangelist George Whitefield was once asked by a woman, “Why do you go
on and on about being born again?” He replied, “Madam, I do so because you must
be born again.” John Wesley worried about the tepid to vapid responses to
Baptism in people’s lives. “Justification implies only a relative, the new
birth a real change. God in justifying us does something for us; in
begetting us again, He does the work in us.” What fascinates here is
that the men talking about being born again rarely if ever link it to birth
itself. How is discipleship like birth? </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp_rOGTdmuLNdO2bWVjNL71IXU2baYjC6487Bz07AqHZvXMZ5tkeE5wxFSJiGntfyillvA4LDzuZ94hXjtJMoiWf7Y3U2xP2eMfA8EQMBPrdQgM8XOETyPOSQ0K8LwGqto3TQq1hyphenhyphenNBWiTYY9f0kWvSjoAVT5btw4H3bldiL5PZ5XJfSxz2H9kegMaKQI/s320/AnneEnright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="256" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp_rOGTdmuLNdO2bWVjNL71IXU2baYjC6487Bz07AqHZvXMZ5tkeE5wxFSJiGntfyillvA4LDzuZ94hXjtJMoiWf7Y3U2xP2eMfA8EQMBPrdQgM8XOETyPOSQ0K8LwGqto3TQq1hyphenhyphenNBWiTYY9f0kWvSjoAVT5btw4H3bldiL5PZ5XJfSxz2H9kegMaKQI/s1600/AnneEnright.jpg" width="256" /></a></div> Let’s look to the words of the writer
Anne Enright, who shows no evident interest in religion: “A child
came out of me. I cannot understand this, or try to explain it. Except to say
that my past life has become foreign to me. Except to say that I am prey, for
the rest of my life, to every small thing.” Isn’t this what being with
Jesus, a child who came out of his mother, is like? The past is laughably past.
Every small thing, devoted to this Jesus, matters.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Nicodemus
approaches Jesus at night. Does the darkness symbolize ignorance, untruth or
evil? Is it stealth so he won’t be observed? The longest darkness any of us has
ever been in was in the womb, waiting to be born. When you were born, the first
time, wasn’t it true that “God called you out of darkness into his marvelous
light. Once you were no people, but now you are God’s people” (1 Pet. 2:9). How
is this new birth like the first?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Jesus
speaks of being born of water and the spirit. Recall your first birth. You were
in water. Then you emerged, gasping for air, for a breath – or we can say
“spirit,” as the Hebrew <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ruah</i>,
and the Greek pneuma both mean air, and then by extension, spirit.
It’s always water, and then the spirit when getting born.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> That
you “must” be reborn intrigues. The Greek, <a name="_Hlk157270972"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">deî</i>,</a> implies throughout John’s
Gospel something of a divine necessity, a holy compulsion. Jesus “had” (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">deî</i>) to pass through Samaria – not
because it was the shortest route, but because he was on a saving mission to
the Samaritan woman. You must be born again. It’s not must as
in You must do your homework, or You must report for jury duty. It’s
more like You must come to my birthday party! or You must come
with me to the hospital to see Fred before he dies. It’s love, it’s a deeply
personal, can’t-miss-it necessity. And yet, you might just miss it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> You
can’t grit your teeth and get born the first time, and you can’t when it’s
“again” either. Back in October of 1955, I didn’t think, Hmm, nice
day to get born, let’s do it. An entirely passive, unchosen event. Even the
mother has zero ability to turn a microscopic zygote into a breathing,
squawling person. Birth happens to you, and in you. Rudolf Bultmann, reflecting
on Jesus’ reply to Nicodemus’s search for salvation, clarifies that “the
condition can only be satisfied by a miracle… It suggests to Nicodemus, and
indeed to anyone who is prepared to entertain the possibility of the occurrence
of a miraculous event, that such a miracle can come to pass.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Jesus
didn’t ask Nicodemus to feel anything. There are, of course, intense
feelings at birth. The mother giving birth may be overwhelmed with an intensity
of joy, or anything else along a broad spectrum of emotion. The one being born
though: is birth an emotional high for the baby?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Of
course, the feelings mother and child share in childbirth are the pains, the
excruciating squeezes, the tearing of flesh and sometimes the breaking of
bones. Could Jesus have imagined such agony when pressing us toward a new
birth? Jesus courageously embraced pain, and invited us to follow. Paul,
imprisoned and beaten multiple times within an inch of his life for following
Jesus, wrote that “When we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’ it is the Spirit himself
bearing witness with our spirit that we are children of God… provided we suffer
with him” (Rom. 8:15-16). No wonder we prefer a happy emotional kind of rebirth
at a revival, over against the costly discipleship that is the new life Jesus
has in mind for us. It isn’t the feeling, but the fact of the new birth, and
the hard facts of union with Jesus in a world puzzled or hostile to his ways.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Jesus
wasn’t asking Nicodemus to behave a little better. Bultmann explains it
perfectly: “Rebirth means… something more than an improvement in man; it means
that man receives a new origin, and this is manifestly something which he cannot
give himself.” My first birth defined my origin as a Howell. I have the DNA, I
favor my dad, I am who I am. How could I come by a new and different origin?
Let’s look to St. Francis of Assisi.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOoAPyNe8AfHdZeGpH7WleUDZ_gkkOhckU-wATPyEDobKTjsYhpF4e8e8WwupZyCXtTnNanKtpEpatme3bk-LnvLi0xFAO1Op0Pf6YjxCe06m-_FniW9NM0KnzGofrjSD9BSe5fEmGnJHG5QrLQpy65xEc3ELfur9moMbmlNll6UPMNIds7QId1pHX-m8/s577/GiottoEdited.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="556" data-original-width="577" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOoAPyNe8AfHdZeGpH7WleUDZ_gkkOhckU-wATPyEDobKTjsYhpF4e8e8WwupZyCXtTnNanKtpEpatme3bk-LnvLi0xFAO1Op0Pf6YjxCe06m-_FniW9NM0KnzGofrjSD9BSe5fEmGnJHG5QrLQpy65xEc3ELfur9moMbmlNll6UPMNIds7QId1pHX-m8/s320/GiottoEdited.PNG" width="320" /></a></div> After
fitting in and even excelling as a child and youth, enviably popular, chic and
cool, Francis heard the call of Jesus. Taking the Bible quite literally,
Francis divested himself of his advantages, including his exquisite,
fashionable clothing, which he gave away to the poor. His father, Pietro, a
churchgoing, upstanding citizen, took exception, locked his son up for a time,
and then sued him in the city square. Giotto’s fresco in the basilica where
Francis is buried shows a stark naked Francis, handing the only thing he has
left, the clothes off his back, to his father. But his eyes are fixed upward,
where we see a hand appearing to bless him from up in the clouds. At this
moment, Francis declared, “Until now I have called Pietro Bernardone my
father. But, because I have proposed to serve God, I return to him the money on
account of which he was so upset, and also all the clothing which is his,
wanting to say from now on: ‘Our Father who are in heaven,’ and not ‘My father,
Pietro di Bernardone.’” A biblical moment, if we have regard for “You have
been born anew, not of perishable seed but of imperishable, through the living
and abiding word of God” (1 Pet. 2:23), or “I have come to set a man against
his father, a daughter against her mother” (Matt. 10:35).<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Nothing
individualistic when Jesus told Nicodemus, “You must be born again” – as the
“you” in verse 7, interestingly, is plural – so Jesus isn’t speaking just to
this one man but to his people, even to us. Y’all together must be born again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq48TohElnxlYWr5-XdkbHuE374xO0VGgIQIdNu9NZRDayRh3sf0zU7OLfP08ebKsAEV4dbCGs3qalbQmBH7x_Q9duzDEP38C-id78XxZzcG50sueOAv6_pIRqLhC8lW8JSqv-KJUnYXgtJ3D0buVDLTj1-c6zYffrJK2j7w7eKGFuX7AcHSP9lub5PkA/s293/MoltmannTrinity.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="191" height="293" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq48TohElnxlYWr5-XdkbHuE374xO0VGgIQIdNu9NZRDayRh3sf0zU7OLfP08ebKsAEV4dbCGs3qalbQmBH7x_Q9duzDEP38C-id78XxZzcG50sueOAv6_pIRqLhC8lW8JSqv-KJUnYXgtJ3D0buVDLTj1-c6zYffrJK2j7w7eKGFuX7AcHSP9lub5PkA/s1600/MoltmannTrinity.jpg" width="191" /></a></div> Parenthetically,
there is a powerful word at the heart of the Trinity. In our culture, we
are wise to lean into Jürgen Moltmann's perspective in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Trinity & the Kingdom</i>.
Some excerpts: "The triune God reveals himself as love in the fellowship
of Father, Son and Holy Spirit. His freedom lies in the friendship which
he offers; his freedom is his vulnerable love, his openness, the encountering
kindness through which he suffers with those he loves." If we reduce
God to a single, absolute personality, we wind up with "justification for
the world's cultivation of the individual" - an individualism God grieves
and counters. And there are political/social implications as well:
"It is only when the doctrine of the Trinity vanquishes the monotheistic
notion of the great universal monarch in heaven that earthly rulers, dictators
and tyrants cease to find any justifying religious archetypes any more."
Wow.<o:p></o:p><p></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-56035829547997965132024-01-01T01:59:00.000-08:002024-02-04T19:09:57.845-08:00What can we say June 2? 2nd Sunday after Pentecost<p> <b><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> 1
Samuel 3:1-20</span></b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">. I preached
on this in January when this text also appeared in our lectionary. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fhcyZjdHmSs">Check it out here</a>! I’ve
been trying to name out loud (out louder?) that children figure so prominently
in Scripture – and when it happens, to dare to suggest God might be calling one
of our children in our church, right now, today, into something amazing for
God. When we gave Bibles to 3rd graders in worship, I looked at them long
and hard and asked this question. Some were being silly, some squirmed, but a
handful looked me in the eye, deeply, as if wondering.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> The
lovely vignette in 1 Samuel 3:1-20 must delight the naturally
spiritual while baffling cynics. If someone says I heard God speak to me,
I tend to think he’s hearing his own hunches or preferred stirrings. How
does anyone hear God in 2024? We should recall that Samuel was in the
temple – all the time. Prayers, sacrifices, the retelling of Israel’s old
stories: these were constants for him. For us, the more deeply we are absorbed
in liturgy, daily prayers, weighing Scripture, and conversation with wise
people (Samuel did have Eli to test what he heard), the more we hear God,
however indirectly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Israel
was in a mess. Eli was getting too old to lead (his loss of vision is what
happens to the elderly but also symbolic of the people’s inability to see the
things of God), and his sons were wicked. How weirdly encouraging is it
that the Bible so often narrates parents with children who have utterly lost
their way?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> “The
word was rare in those days” – because the Lord was quiet? Or because no one
was listening? Does this sound like our days? But “the lamp had not gone out” –
so clever, as it’s a lamp, but it’s also theological! God does speak: “I am
about to do a thing at which the 2 ears of everyone that hears it will
tingle.” The preacher has to play on this business - and even dare to
dream that God will do a new ear-tingling thing even in our day.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqsd_Bc3bs2pkFSFhPedscJ9QvwVnbXFEAON6Sp2xG4DlPXg1vDJgDRLv4m3QbweN_Z7ddKRzGu5BIxoyPg_jKwjey_69Vg83gJxwvgn2HjTBmn8kk8E-YhmQ3EWj8YHDlk7aRXBMri5FinW3mMZPSVebasX6awlRqMhuQeMS_lByZQD-ns4tr_jkR_h8/s748/barbara-brown-taylor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="748" data-original-width="627" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqsd_Bc3bs2pkFSFhPedscJ9QvwVnbXFEAON6Sp2xG4DlPXg1vDJgDRLv4m3QbweN_Z7ddKRzGu5BIxoyPg_jKwjey_69Vg83gJxwvgn2HjTBmn8kk8E-YhmQ3EWj8YHDlk7aRXBMri5FinW3mMZPSVebasX6awlRqMhuQeMS_lByZQD-ns4tr_jkR_h8/s320/barbara-brown-taylor.jpg" width="268" /></a></div> As
Barbara Brown Taylor explains so eloquently in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">When God is Silent</i>, prayer should be less “Lord, hear our prayers,”
and more “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.” Through all those
disciplines the church offers, we may begin to hear – but the ears will
tingle. God won’t speak conventional wisdom, and God won’t pander to our
preferences. Thomas Merton was right about why we don’t hear or have a
vibrant spiritual life: “Much of our coldness and dryness in prayer may well be
a kind of unconscious defense against grace.”<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1IsiBZFosYQyQOT4zjg6N8pmKRc8bhvSTsTonVmU9OmUdAR5XVdDEBjXwM3M-QSrQX7LKKeITHuGr0AQNSZ1IMJIxod2r2HSduHMbDTWPUz7w5EAiT3-bt_rjchughjb_r9TtSL9PBGFrGOs-J_2LtnOZc4zaQrojmA0e3-y0rjY94bbA6SAg5doak4E/s320/MarianneWilliamson2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="252" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1IsiBZFosYQyQOT4zjg6N8pmKRc8bhvSTsTonVmU9OmUdAR5XVdDEBjXwM3M-QSrQX7LKKeITHuGr0AQNSZ1IMJIxod2r2HSduHMbDTWPUz7w5EAiT3-bt_rjchughjb_r9TtSL9PBGFrGOs-J_2LtnOZc4zaQrojmA0e3-y0rjY94bbA6SAg5doak4E/s1600/MarianneWilliamson2.jpg" width="252" /></a></div> What
does grace feel like? Marianne Williamson suggested that “When you ask God into
your life, you think God is going to come into your psychic house, look around,
and see you just need a new floor or better furniture, that everything needs
just a little cleaning – and so you go along thinking how nice life is that God
is there. Then you look out the window one day and you see that there’s a
wrecking ball outside. It turns out your foundation is shot, and that you’re
going to have to start building it over from scratch.” For Israel, the
building of the whole nation is collapsing and needs radical reconstruction –
which may sound like our nation and world…<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjV4_XvLm7SZGtDkpj5nBvDY5v_5hyphenhyphenQeRyxqDRz9M3NkNKJRMvJnl30PZ4xUzyxS5sDey2QuSXRrbUQxPR104kYL2WOZ2iiwTprEMqp5PkSwfTKH-WVoeC3CesvvRDCREUTB5IU_eL5lWoYSYiu_5KF0mKoydyy32Gd0ATvNpFfe8xa7MS1UnVkkDnA0k/s320/BookOfEli.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="226" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjV4_XvLm7SZGtDkpj5nBvDY5v_5hyphenhyphenQeRyxqDRz9M3NkNKJRMvJnl30PZ4xUzyxS5sDey2QuSXRrbUQxPR104kYL2WOZ2iiwTprEMqp5PkSwfTKH-WVoeC3CesvvRDCREUTB5IU_eL5lWoYSYiu_5KF0mKoydyy32Gd0ATvNpFfe8xa7MS1UnVkkDnA0k/s1600/BookOfEli.jpg" width="226" /></a></div> In
addition to those crucial thoughts on 1 Samuel 3, I want to explore Eli a bit
further – partly because it occurs to me you could do a lot with maybe my
favorite post-apocalyptic film, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The
Book of Eli</i> ("the word of the Lord was rare," he's blind, a
young child figures prominently, etc.) - but then also because a good
friend, Rev. George Ragsdale, spoke on this recently, and I was moved and
stirred by what he did. Speaking to clergy about to screen candidates for
ordination, he raised the question of how Eli understood (or didn’t!) that
Samuel was being called by God.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Eli’s
ability to figure out what was going on was compromised – first by his own
physical frailty. He’s old, tired, visually impaired. How often do our aches
and pains, or our own physical weariness, keep us from hearing God, or from
realizing what God might be doing? How often, simply being tired, do we go back
to bed and assume it can’t really be God speaking or doing a new thing?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUd-QS-fyHx-BrFBnG1UCuT5jfVDbt6X0f0cQNsUUDGtxvPXJUNYBu3CVsj5Z9uF8B9VskO-FyhqV4Ez1ZNrDOJrjw8pLo4BmsnYx8KlebiRUWiDHO2M-QZT1Z2w7GMI1gL2yA2cFN5NRpw50Db6TMGCj0iyJ6J0SsxzAUgT4rBcmu37Sn9x5k1cDD2sk/s506/WeakEnough.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="506" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUd-QS-fyHx-BrFBnG1UCuT5jfVDbt6X0f0cQNsUUDGtxvPXJUNYBu3CVsj5Z9uF8B9VskO-FyhqV4Ez1ZNrDOJrjw8pLo4BmsnYx8KlebiRUWiDHO2M-QZT1Z2w7GMI1gL2yA2cFN5NRpw50Db6TMGCj0iyJ6J0SsxzAUgT4rBcmu37Sn9x5k1cDD2sk/s320/WeakEnough.PNG" width="211" /></a></div> Eli’s
mounting blindness isn’t just physical; it’s symbolic of his leadership. He’s
blinded by love and attachment to his own sons (as was Samuel, and David) who
were scoundrels, who “had no regard for the Lord,” and abused their priestly prerogatives.
As I explored in my book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Weak
Enough to Lead</i>, all leaders show up for work with whatever they left at
home still rattling around in their heads. When you preach or pastor, you
carry, probably hidden in silence, a struggle you had with your son, a spat
with your spouse, a harsh word from your mother – and it impacts what you do;
the people to whom you preach experience the same thing in their worlds. And so
we name these Eli situations – the recognition and naming offering some mercy
where there isn’t much other mercy to be had. And then, of course, God might
use that hidden brokenness – which can become compassion for others…<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> And finally, doesn’t Eli suspect
that if he helps Samuel hear God’s Word, that would prove to be the final blow
against him and his own family’s failed leadership? As George put it, might it
be that God will even call the church to something we don’t recognize, as much
as we love the place, and that we’ll be the ones left behind? Can we help the
church hear even that calling that will cost us plenty?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe5iQKBUW2s7l9nSpeFGnTd50qYcBXYP_MJxaa67SmNHeqVRCQMpdzSYy8dj_cLJhn4lYC4nPoKHR9tmZTE8I0BKISw23CB2NyMV1gFAFw-ySwpl4wcSk28JOndziMl2DBY9chHh9SNkJYZ6Ft4Q3t96l76DVsF7gMVCLXON7344gzxtjxR3ghNItjACU/s661/LeonardCohen.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="661" data-original-width="562" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe5iQKBUW2s7l9nSpeFGnTd50qYcBXYP_MJxaa67SmNHeqVRCQMpdzSYy8dj_cLJhn4lYC4nPoKHR9tmZTE8I0BKISw23CB2NyMV1gFAFw-ySwpl4wcSk28JOndziMl2DBY9chHh9SNkJYZ6Ft4Q3t96l76DVsF7gMVCLXON7344gzxtjxR3ghNItjACU/s320/LeonardCohen.PNG" width="272" /></a></div> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">2
Corinthians 4:5-12</b>. Paul clarifies what we know but don’t put on resumes or
admit to pulpit committees: “We have this treasure in clay jars” (or a Victor
Paul Furnish translates, “earthen pots”). Many understand these to be vessels
used for the offering of sacrifice – so they could then be broken up and
disposed of it they became ritually unclean. Like Eli, we are such earthen
vessels… and the image of the broken, breakable, sacrificial pottery piece can
be probed endlessly. Wasn’t it Leonard Cohen who wrote “There is a
crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in”?<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2y8EHG0AKPUDFYERLAnBwmgQsDmCg_yXVJKe2oXsOvMftUJZYprWSTjR7rTAMb3PTcbg_ljNC1TNti6Fnao6G1IV-R8FJg6qoQTd3z-cR7W5FTKCaX8b_MZeSPf7RaBY4AREn00vhV6i0C8_caOialbIlqzyq6zs8MAsYzkRLgIS04cANnsz5rI47ctM/s225/LillianDaniel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2y8EHG0AKPUDFYERLAnBwmgQsDmCg_yXVJKe2oXsOvMftUJZYprWSTjR7rTAMb3PTcbg_ljNC1TNti6Fnao6G1IV-R8FJg6qoQTd3z-cR7W5FTKCaX8b_MZeSPf7RaBY4AREn00vhV6i0C8_caOialbIlqzyq6zs8MAsYzkRLgIS04cANnsz5rI47ctM/s1600/LillianDaniel.jpg" width="225" /></a></div> And
then we have Lillian Daniel’s moving story from her childhood: her father would
go on long trips, and then return with collectible pottery pieces from around
the world. As the years passed, she kept noticing, next to the fabulous samples
of artful pottery, there was one shabby piece that looked like it had been
glued together by an amateur. While the other pieces were labelled with
indications of their provenance, this one simply said “Precious.” Lillian asked
her mother about it – and learned the story. Her father came home after an
especially long trip. Little Lillian saw him pull up in the driveway, bolted
out of the house, and ran to her dad – who was holding his pottery treasure but
could do nothing but let it fall to the pavement as he embraced and lifted up
his little girl. Precious. The broken one.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Paul’s
poetic cadence (“afflicted in every way but not crushed; perplexed but not
driven to despair; persecuted but not forsaken; struck down but not destroyed”)
requires no explanation at all. The preacher can just repeat it, reiterate it,
maybe invite the people to stand and declare it out loud with her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6RiJpyX9lhA7TJWVXBPWX3hdcMVsmAsMGcVjVODZq0XEJfgXeraRcUuJGOsEb797gvuGJdvzVNsltN_Mo0Ux_BcSRcaFSh5F0zo98O8JrgZu-s1Py10gpKXNATTeEUxr-9n39ZAcVHjkFVCkFs_6D6LZH8JpLEHC_tu7556a5Fm97VaJkfJgPNdAJSj4/s434/cimabue.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="434" data-original-width="328" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6RiJpyX9lhA7TJWVXBPWX3hdcMVsmAsMGcVjVODZq0XEJfgXeraRcUuJGOsEb797gvuGJdvzVNsltN_Mo0Ux_BcSRcaFSh5F0zo98O8JrgZu-s1Py10gpKXNATTeEUxr-9n39ZAcVHjkFVCkFs_6D6LZH8JpLEHC_tu7556a5Fm97VaJkfJgPNdAJSj4/s320/cimabue.PNG" width="242" /></a></div> And
I’m dumbstruck by Paul’s daunting brilliance in adding “Always carrying in our
bodies the death of Jesus.” How do we make sense of suffering? You bear it, you
pray for God’s healing, etc. – but what if it feels and is interpreted as a
carrying within our own bodies the death of Jesus? Oh my. St. Francis of Assisi
sought this and an even more intense kind of solidarity with Jesus. Two
years before his death, Francis withdrew from the crowds to rocky Mt.
LaVerna. It was September, 1224, when the Catholic calendar featured
the “feast of the Exaltation of the Cross.” He prayed intently, with
words of unmatched theological power:<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> “My
Lord Jesus Christ, two graces I ask of you before I die: the first is that
in my life I may feel, in my soul and body, as far as possible, that
sorrow which you, tender Jesus underwent in the hour of your most bitter
passion; the second is that I may feel in my heart, as far as
possible, the abundance of love with which you, son of God, were inflamed
so as willingly to undergo such a great passion for us sinners.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPmBvGd1Wg9ceRSEgvExJUBfv6DOG-YRkJa0DviqE-_2FRZA1UDirKbzD9elCnYBgxwcuTZNSxipEwi1wuI2hF7dkT5-7tOdbmM161I1OG00HF2p4KmOUeYCQ07aH76ONm62jUxHkwRcJMIoUIKRwQZyhfj_uf8cZaGwCNGOwT_R67L-_owOr5KirkBA/s499/ConversationsWithStFrancis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="324" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVPmBvGd1Wg9ceRSEgvExJUBfv6DOG-YRkJa0DviqE-_2FRZA1UDirKbzD9elCnYBgxwcuTZNSxipEwi1wuI2hF7dkT5-7tOdbmM161I1OG00HF2p4KmOUeYCQ07aH76ONm62jUxHkwRcJMIoUIKRwQZyhfj_uf8cZaGwCNGOwT_R67L-_owOr5KirkBA/s320/ConversationsWithStFrancis.jpg" width="208" /></a></div> In
my <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Conversations with St. Francis</i>,
I spend some time on this remarkable prayer, talking about the place where it
happened and how Francis then experienced the greatest or the worst miracle
ever: being wounded in his hands, feet and side. The “stigmata” – as Paul put
it, “carrying in the body the death of Jesus.”<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiNn26I0rYHtEMi9CoPrgr92S2ng0eecf2BxMe-srW5ENCeh-G5nJ4dF0T1kPvuTBNzJ2Mc1u1oeICd8auklN6ZFyIz5ZermEbkTjZExvEMjP32ViQ8HDhr22tN97I-94Xa4CgfPT-l2ikfqA9645LLRosYzWg1nSm4Bew21-Yabkwa_albDUhm2E5EyQ/s385/FaulknerSoundFury.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="233" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiNn26I0rYHtEMi9CoPrgr92S2ng0eecf2BxMe-srW5ENCeh-G5nJ4dF0T1kPvuTBNzJ2Mc1u1oeICd8auklN6ZFyIz5ZermEbkTjZExvEMjP32ViQ8HDhr22tN97I-94Xa4CgfPT-l2ikfqA9645LLRosYzWg1nSm4Bew21-Yabkwa_albDUhm2E5EyQ/s320/FaulknerSoundFury.jpg" width="194" /></a></div> And then there’s the incandescent moment in
Faulkner’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Sound and the Fury</i>: his
pitch perfect portrayal of a single preacher, the pastor of the maid of the
affluent Dilsey family, is frankly my ideal for who I want to be when I grow up
as a preacher. “The preacher had not moved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His arm lay yet across the desk, and he still held that pose while the
voice died in sonorous echoes between the walls. It was as different as day and
dark from his former tone, with a sad, timbrous quality like an alto horn,
sinking into their hearts and speaking there again when it had ceased in fading
and cumulate echoes. ‘Brethren and sistern,’ it said again. The preacher
removed his arm and he began to walk back and forth before the desk, his hands
clasped behind him, a meager figure, hunched over upon itself like that of one
long immured in striving with the implacable earth, ‘I got the recollection and
blood of the Lamb!’ He tramped steadily back and forth beneath the twisted
paper and the Christmas bell, hunched, his hands clasped behind him. He was
like a worn small rock whelmed by the successive waves of his voice. With his
body he seemed to feed the voice that, succubus like, had fleshed its teeth in
him. And the congregation seemed to watch with its own eyes while the voice
consumed him, until he was nothing and they were nothing and there was not even
a voice but instead their hearts were speaking to one another in chanting
measures beyond the need for words, so that when he came to rest against the
reading desk, his monkey face lifted and his whole attitude that of a serene,
tortured crucifix that transcended its shabbiness and insignificance and made
it of no moment, a long moaning expulsion of breath rose from them, and a
woman’s single soprano:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Yes, Jesus!’”<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPTqsMhzJRT2taTMvtcWnSPM7zEPghik02CXbASqiUDyyuhDp_6gy6sJ2ESYbRk-r0uVpvwQvgY_1ECMnCWeE25gPvpKb91m2y5TbAm3d70MMZz9kST4GFZozZXchwNWwPXPanNIR4imfTxonUaNxk7anDRAuV-Ua8t_BnDJ-P3F9-PfWRz5dQ8HQuKC4/s320/BrueggemannSabbath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="208" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPTqsMhzJRT2taTMvtcWnSPM7zEPghik02CXbASqiUDyyuhDp_6gy6sJ2ESYbRk-r0uVpvwQvgY_1ECMnCWeE25gPvpKb91m2y5TbAm3d70MMZz9kST4GFZozZXchwNWwPXPanNIR4imfTxonUaNxk7anDRAuV-Ua8t_BnDJ-P3F9-PfWRz5dQ8HQuKC4/s1600/BrueggemannSabbath.jpg" width="208" /></a></div> I’m
so taken with 1 Samuel 3, and then 2 Corinthians 4 that I don’t know if I’ll
get to the Gospel, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mark 2:23-3:6</b> at
all. On the Sabbath, I cannot recommend highly enough what may be Walter
Brueggemann’s best little book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sabbath
as Resistance</i>. Stunning, profound, devotional, political, liberating,
challenging. And Jesus: wasn’t the Sabbath his best day of the week? Not
because of his own rest, but because he cut to the heart of the thing, healing,
letting the disciples eat, spinning it all not as antinomianism but a robust
sense that the Sabbath was made for people… We are totally loose on Sabbath
observance, so we actually need the opposite lesson that the Pharisees needed.<o:p></o:p><p></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-65194098177233941002024-01-01T01:57:00.000-08:002024-02-25T10:35:39.162-08:00What can we say come June 9? 3rd after Pentecost<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwYU6gvVMCLww6owNPFEguxKZ8zZEgmFWNStdIXkkWwtxoT9NL5JI46KUUONUj6Ib49JllegHlE_l9-y3kfmbRTbzI6XtR6eINovs2dkkWus0ZnG78uFzJDMQ8C1gn9iAbSIDkIMpSlY/s1600/wmbarber.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOwYU6gvVMCLww6owNPFEguxKZ8zZEgmFWNStdIXkkWwtxoT9NL5JI46KUUONUj6Ib49JllegHlE_l9-y3kfmbRTbzI6XtR6eINovs2dkkWus0ZnG78uFzJDMQ8C1gn9iAbSIDkIMpSlY/s320/wmbarber.jpg" width="213" /></a><div style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Great texts this week! I’ll linger a while
over 1 Samuel 8, which is a theologically rich, timely story – one I heard
William Barber use shortly after the 2016 election to call the nation to
account (read/watch <a href="https://myersparkbaptist.org/sermon/national-sermon-on-race/">here</a>) in a powerful, unforgettable sermon! (One you would enjoy, one your people might resent...) Then I’ll spend some time on the epistle before turning to Jesus’
baffling but wonderful thoughts about “binding the strong man.”</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><b>1 Samuel 8</b>. To speak of Saul as Israel’s
first king is a bit much; there was hardly any institution at all – it was more
of a startup. No capital, no army, no bureaucrats. Saul himself was big and
strong, and his dad was rich. He had even a frenzied experience of the Spirit
(1 Sam 10:12).</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>But how he had become king was theologically
a nightmare. The preacher could choose to walk people through the text slowly,
with little aside comments: “All the elders of Israel gathered together and
came to Samuel at Ramah, and said to him, ‘You are old’” (a frank but
unflattering opening remark), “‘and your sons do not follow in your ways’”
(similarly frank and unflattering). </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpl7QrTq2RSbifZhIeMXDNxP8YdYIrtFIWwHgH5xxKARAsurANYjqinIaCANhMi87ypPCKeoSes6SIvn-ogNk-wfP_ssmQbwsTLhSgJvnCOp0H4R28gg6B66C5HU_I-EMXIu4Be3wd-co/s1600/frodoring.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="878" data-original-width="951" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpl7QrTq2RSbifZhIeMXDNxP8YdYIrtFIWwHgH5xxKARAsurANYjqinIaCANhMi87ypPCKeoSes6SIvn-ogNk-wfP_ssmQbwsTLhSgJvnCOp0H4R28gg6B66C5HU_I-EMXIu4Be3wd-co/s320/frodoring.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“Appoint for us, then, a king to govern us”
(they had tried this years earlier with Gideon, who wisely refused – perhaps like
Frodo destroying instead of wielding the ring of power) “like other nations”
(which was the one thing Israel was not supposed to be). “But the thing
displeased Samuel” (another understatement – but why? Perhaps he was displeased
that they were so frank and unflattering as to reject his sons. What does his
desperate lunge to install his greedy sons tell us about his heart? Was he
clinging to hopes they would turn out all right after all? Did he seek some
validation through them? Was he, in old age, shortsighted regarding what was
required in such tough times? How did the author of 1 Samuel get this peek into
Samuel’s sentimental confusion? And how did he know Samuel’s displeasure was
shared by God – who if anything felt more jilted than did Samuel?). </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo2R82J1tGYRgninsMdVLyG-TZ4CJ-9gloi4Zdj-e0bOqxUfGrcEB4zT29gik4qmvZKTpRJC_ei6gOYtJK-YpPL_nNQHMagHiKZUOlT2N6fdFMCHSfG-zvI9LWWFKdMlrGl5SYhuQo0XQ/s1600/murphy_2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo2R82J1tGYRgninsMdVLyG-TZ4CJ-9gloi4Zdj-e0bOqxUfGrcEB4zT29gik4qmvZKTpRJC_ei6gOYtJK-YpPL_nNQHMagHiKZUOlT2N6fdFMCHSfG-zvI9LWWFKdMlrGl5SYhuQo0XQ/s1600/murphy_2.jpg" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“The Lord
said to Samuel, ‘They have rejected me from being king over them’” (1 Sam 8:7). Francesca Aran Murphy's insight intrigues (in her Brazos commentary on 1 Samuel): God does not appear much in the story going forward. Has God withdrawn? Does it seem to wayward people God has withdrawn?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia";"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Mind you, all of us would do as they did.
To say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">We need no government or army, God
is our King</i> would be a deeply pious riff, but the Midianites and
Philistines wielded real swords and clubs. Dealing with them spontaneously,
haphazardly, armed with nothing but a prayer made no sense. And the world was
changing. The Bronze Age was yielding to the technologically superior Iron Age.
Nomadic, tribal culture was yielding to urbanization and more centralized power
all over the world. Israel was under siege, and would likely be squashed within
a generation. The Bible’s radical vision of life with God never seems to mesh
well with the demands of real societies trying to adjust and survive. The
Prussian chancellor Bismarck famously said “You can’t run a government based on
the Sermon on the Mount.” Leadership can’t merely close its eyes and fold its
hands in prayer. In a frightening, rapidly changing world, leadership has to
get its hands dirty in harsh realities. So what’s up with God’s resistance to
their eagerness for reasonable leadership?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Their sensible demand for Samuel to give
them a king took a stunning turn, though, when the Lord, nursing feelings of
rejection, told Samuel, “Listen to the voice of the people in all that they say
to you” (1 Sam 8:7). What they were asking was a bolt away from God toward
independence, a surrender of their status as God’s chosen, special, elect
people. But instead of tossing down a few thunderbolts, God let them have what
they wanted. Paul wrote in a similar vein in Romans 1: “God gave them up.” When
people insist on their will instead of God’s, God “gives them up,” God lets
them have their way. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And
yet the resilience of God’s love wouldn’t let God just abandon them to their
own devices. After telling Samuel to let them have their king, God simply
added, “only you shall solemnly warn them, and show them the ways of the king
who shall reign over them” (1 Sam 8:9). Pastors warn, as did the prophets – although
warnings are rarely welcomed. What was Samuel’s tone when he warned? Snarling
and bellowing? Or more plaintive, grievous, tender pleading? Love warns
gingerly, lovingly. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>A laundry list of troubles (all of which
did eventually unfold in the sad narrative to come) was rattled off: “This king
will press your sons into vain military quests, and your daughters into
domestic service; he will tax you and confiscate the fruits of your labors.”
But the people only hardened their hearts, shouting “No! but we are determined
to have a king over us, so that he may go out before us and fight our battles”
(1 Sam 8:19-20). The key word here is “our.” Their agenda, not the Lord’s. We
may wonder how many of the Bible’s “holy wars” were really very human wars with
God’s name pasted on the outside.</span></div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWPIb-wkoZZYORxn5fDwdb0uZ3-_Syt2nDn4tzyqhpgeqQHvwAWTw4ZJchdZy1szHj88HsBWpyd9wcwJBuGDWCd3jxdh9uZtJuHVATiycEj5dj30fykB3jNQv7maQTo0KwsgBKDP9hRTY/s1600/brueggemann.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1090" data-original-width="1600" height="217" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWPIb-wkoZZYORxn5fDwdb0uZ3-_Syt2nDn4tzyqhpgeqQHvwAWTw4ZJchdZy1szHj88HsBWpyd9wcwJBuGDWCd3jxdh9uZtJuHVATiycEj5dj30fykB3jNQv7maQTo0KwsgBKDP9hRTY/s320/brueggemann.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia";"> A few years ago, I was present for a scintillating lecture by 85 year old Walter Brueggemann in which he articulated how history has been a history of economies of "extraction," the wealthy extracting from the poor. Egypt obviously did this - but then so did Solomon, by taxation, seizing property, and for nefarious purposes (war, oppression, etc.). It is haunting to realize this is what we have in the U.S., and how so many in our churches benefit from it - and yet how unholy it is. Brueggemann suggests that the Bible envisions a very different economy - one of neighborliness, where we don't seize all we can, where we might resist gentrification, where we lift up the needy and perhaps have less ourselves. Samuel's warning resonates across the centuries to... us.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>God lets them have what they want. The
name Saul means “asked for.” The rich irony of this! The people ask for a king,
and after dire warnings, God gives them literally what they asked for: Saul,
the asked-for one. Poor Saul. He is inserted into the middle of a fractured
relationship between Israel and the Lord. He is immensely gifted, tall, strong,
smart, and zealous. Maybe too zealous. We almost sense that he tries too hard.
Leaders do, especially in sick systems.</span></div>
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGrtMXlTuA7IGepSE5BID17mA1cN__nMIKCIqJfZtUc6Z06scqydHX6ye-LB_I56-W_Du0hv-5__Qo38Xm6V9zcGhTi94Sxzu0foC82fVdZTYWkHLCEHLUxLrsr3NA4AmohQQEhqzsFyc/s1600/gunnsaul.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="293" data-original-width="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGrtMXlTuA7IGepSE5BID17mA1cN__nMIKCIqJfZtUc6Z06scqydHX6ye-LB_I56-W_Du0hv-5__Qo38Xm6V9zcGhTi94Sxzu0foC82fVdZTYWkHLCEHLUxLrsr3NA4AmohQQEhqzsFyc/s1600/gunnsaul.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Saul had his faults – but the preacher
might ask if he simply was the one God wanted for that moment – as if it suited
God to put a weak one on the throne in order to drive the hidden plot of God’s
story. <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Much has been written about Saul
as a tragic figure. The plot of his story is kin to those Greek dramas in which
the main character (like Oedipus), no matter what he actually does, is fated into
a destiny not of his own choosing. The moment in time is what is flawed; the
people seeking a kind are flawed, not just Saul. David Gunn suggests that Saul
is “vulnerable as an object-lesson,” which the Lord wanted to teach a wayward
people; he is “kingship’s scapegoat.” </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And then, shock of all shocks, miracle of
all miracles, God winds up sing the very kingship God didn’t want the people to
have, which emerged out of idolatrous and rebellious motives, and established
his own son, Jesus, the Messiah on Israel’s throne forever.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>God is, once again, more amazing than our
wildest imaginings.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia";"> By the way, m<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">y book on biblical leadership, </span><i style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: &quot; font-size: 16px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Weak-Enough-Lead-Powerful-Leadership/dp/1501842633/ref=tmm_pap_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=&sr=">Weak Enough to Lead</a></i><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">, explores the Saul story in more depth, with connections to leadership today.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz9Qm0mYByBnZlqlBhRz4VUzVS6WYLgfHXSZt6JrWo8p27WJtmX-9EqhXpqPfndkV6gl32kvRhYIvaKw6BRGkTtFPqNgIChjFSA7f9v_y7waD5kTZlHSYEiLRBKpqH-J-mK4BeQbd4jrI/s1600/CSLewis.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1220" data-original-width="1033" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz9Qm0mYByBnZlqlBhRz4VUzVS6WYLgfHXSZt6JrWo8p27WJtmX-9EqhXpqPfndkV6gl32kvRhYIvaKw6BRGkTtFPqNgIChjFSA7f9v_y7waD5kTZlHSYEiLRBKpqH-J-mK4BeQbd4jrI/s320/CSLewis.jpg" width="270" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="epistle_reading"></a><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><b>2 Corinthians 4:13-5:1.</b></span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"> Our epistle lesson, from a very different angle, explores
and celebrates this craziness in God’s way.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The lectionary weirdly lops a logically tight section off before it’s
done – this lovely text we often read at funerals.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The text explains itself, and should be read
slowly, lingering over words and phrases – even in the sermon.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Preaching at Oxford during the dark days of
World War II, C.S. Lewis picked up on “The Weight of Glory” and spent what must
have been fifteen startling, wonderful minutes preaching on that phrase – one
of the truly great sermons in Christian history.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Read it in preparation to preach, or just to
expand your soul.</span></div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Henri Nouwen similarly went
deep on the notion of momentary affliction preparing us for a weight of
glory.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"> In <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Our Greatest Gift</i>, his thoughtful book
about dying, he tells a story about fraternal twins talking with one another in
th</span></span><span style="font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; margin: 0px;">e womb: </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">“The sister said to the brother, ‘I believe there is life after
birth.’ Her brother protested vehemently, ‘No, no, this is all there is. This
is a dark and cozy place, and we have nothing to do but cling to cord that
feeds us.’ The little girl insisted, ‘There must be something more than this
dark place. There must be something else, a place with light, where there is
freedom to move.’ Still she could not convince her twin brother.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>After some silence, the sister said hesitantly, ‘I have something else
to say, and I’m afraid you won’t like that either, but I think there is a
Mother.’ Her brother became furious. ‘A Mother!?’ he shouted. ‘What are you
talking about? I have never seen a mother, and neither have you. Who put that
idea in your head? As I told you, this place is all we have. Why do you always
want more? This is not such a bad place, after all. We have all we need, so
let’s be content.’</span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>The sister was quite overwhelmed by her brother’s response, and for a
while didn’t dare say anything more. But she couldn’t let go of her thoughts,
and since she had only her twin brother to speak to, she finally said, ‘Don’t
you feel those squeezes once in a while? They’re quite unpleasant and sometimes
even painful.’ ‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘What’s so special about that?’ ‘Well,’ the
sister said, ‘I think that these squeezes are there to get us ready for another
place, much more beautiful than this, where we will see our Mother face to
face. Don’t you think that’s exciting?’</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The brother didn’t answer. He was fed up with
the foolish talk of his sister and felt that the best thing would be simply to
ignore her and hope that she would leave him alone.”</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia";"></span><br /><div style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This story, if you’ve never used it, works
on Sunday morning, but especially powerful at funerals.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;">
</span><div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And then our Gospel, </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="gospel_reading"></a><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><b>Mark
3:20-</b></span></span><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-weight: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>35</b><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a><u>.</u><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span>Verse 20 feels a bit abrupt, so if we back up we’ll recall that
Jesus has just called disciples, and then “he went home” – presumably to
Nazareth, since his mother and siblings appear straightaway. How odd: it’s so
jammed “they could not even eat.” A deep hunger underwrites the confusion and
tension to follow. Jesus’ own family – out of great affection, and yet also from
the misunderstandings loved ones often have when their beloved go out on a limb
for God – restrains him, fearing he is mentally disturbed. In this way, they
join ranks with Jesus’ critics in the following verse, who interpret his
startling feats as demon possession.</span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; font-size: 12pt; margin: 0px;">
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Opening with the family, and then closing this pericope with them again,
forms a neat “sandwich” or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">inclusio</i>.
Jesus has siblings – posing a quandary for Catholics adhering to Mary’s
perpetual virginity; Martin Luther clung to this belief as well. I love to
ponder the role these siblings play, including James, who knows Jesus well, who
got dissed in this very scene, and yet who became a great believer and leader
in the early Church. What greater evidence could there be that Jesus really was
whom the Gospel writers claimed he was?</span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
</div>
<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>We also see how Jesus relativizes and then radicalizes “family,” one of
those sneaky, curious idolatries in our society.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Do Mary and her children get ushered to the
front?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>No.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Jesus embraces everyone standing there as his
family.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>In God, we are a new kind of
family, where water is thicker than blood.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Christianity is a process of re-familying.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>We may be from strong families; but God’s
call can disrupt that as the ultimate priority and place us in a weird family
with very different people. We may be from dysfunctional, painful families; and
God then gifts us with the family we always wished we’d had.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Peter Scazzero’s Emotionally Healthy
Spirituality project presses us to delve into our family lunacies and then in
the church to discover people who then become our new home. </span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>My friend Bishop Claude Alexander and I recently <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0uT1XtQ9qgs">preached together on domestic violence</a> – and found ourselves speaking to men about how to treat
women. Claude said “You may have grown up in a family where kindness and
generosity and verbal encouragement didn’t happen. But you’re in a new family
now, the family of God, where love is the thing.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Lovely.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><br /><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>It’s fascinating Jesus’ critics didn’t say he was boring or ineffective.
They fully recognized amazing events were mysteriously unfolding – and perhaps
being terribly mixed up, but perhaps also reticent to acknowledge that this
might really be the God they had gotten under good control for so long, they
saw the devil’s hand. The alias for Satan they use, Beelzebul, means “lord of
the house.” When Jesus turns their argument on its ear, his implication is
well-articulated by Joel Marcus: “Before Jesus appeared on the scene, Satan was
the head of the household of this world, an identification perhaps already
implied by the epithet ‘Beelzebul’ = ‘lord of the abode.’”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Jesus’ rhetoric here is brilliant, as Joel
Marcus explains: “Jesus compares his own actions to those of a transgressive
character, in this case a thief who breaks into a strong man’s house, ties him
up, and steals his goods.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>That’s our
Jesus indeed!.</span></span></span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">
</span><i>Binding the Strong Man</i> is the title of Ched Myers’s remarkable and
powerful ruminations on Mark’s Gospel.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>According to Myers, Mark was written “to help imperial subjects learn the
hard truth about their world and themselves.” It is “a manifesto for radical
discipleship.” Indeed, “Mark is taking dead aim at Caesar and his legitimating
myths. From the very first line, Mark’s strategy is subversive.” Myers
complains about much of what we often hear nowadays – “”bourgeois hermeneutics
trivializing apocalyptic narrative” (Ouch!). Jesus, according to Mark, who is
sneaky stronger, intends to overthrow the apparent strong man (the
establishment) to liberate the strong one’s prey. “Imperial hermeneutics, ever
on the side of law and order, will of course find this interpretation
offensive, shocking.”</span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Of course, as Marcus reminds us, when Jesus is spoken of as insane, and
alienated from his own family, we should recall that Mark’s first readers, and
all early Christians, were thought out of their minds, and many were grievously
abandoned by their kinfolk.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>This
phenomenon likely goes on in our day as well.</span></div><div style="margin: 0px;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , "serif"; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>And then this text provides us with that worrisome idea that there is
one unforgivable sin. John Bunyan (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Grace
Abounding</i>) shared with a friend his worry he has committed this sin, and
his friend answered he thought he might have as well.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Pastors counsel fretting souls by suggesting
that, if you are genuinely worried about having committed this sin, you
probably have not done so. Mark’s context indicates this sin would be “a total,
malignant opposition to Jesus that twists all the evidence of his life-giving
power into evidence that he is demonically possessed” – and so, as Marcus continues,
“Those guilty of such blasphemy would not be overly concerned about having
committed it.”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I’d turn this and ask Why
worry so much over Did I commit that one that’s unforgivable? What then about
the mass of quite forgivable sins I’ve committed – and been forgiven?</span></div>
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<u><span style="color: #0066cc; font-family: "georgia";"></span></u><br />James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-89523289133360071862024-01-01T01:55:00.000-08:002024-02-25T10:38:44.847-08:00What can we say come June 16? 4th after Pentecost<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><b>1 Samuel 16</b> gifts us with one of the Old Testament’s signature
theological texts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I preached a sermon I
felt pretty good about on this 5</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=20E79Uab_iA&t=1785s"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #0563c1;"> years ago</span></span></a></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">, and another 4</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b-huqyPkTSk"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #0563c1;"> years ago</span></span></a></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although it makes for a longer reading, it is
well that our lectionary picks up at 15:34.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Samuel doesn’t anoint David out of the blue, but only in the wake of his
grief and God’s sorrow over the debacle that was King Saul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God, ever true to God’s self, grieves for a
time and then unfolds the new thing God will do.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Samuel’s new mission, to anoint the new king – even though it’s only a
proleptic anointing, as Saul will reign for quite a while after David is soaked
in oil – must be sneaky, surreptitious, clandestine (it’s fun for preachers to
play with such words, isn’t it? – and we have, I always believe, a curious
responsibility to keep certain words alive in the English language...).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s intriguing that Jesus, too, the anointed
one, the Messiah, was rather on the secretive side about his reign during his
ministry; Mark pictures him shushing the disciples, and the powers that
dominated the world then would have snickered at the notion that Augustus or
Tiberius was not emperor, or that Herod (or Herod) was not king for much
longer.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<div class="bodytext" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walking your people back through the
story, which is so very vivid, is helpful – if you don’t belabor it for so
long…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What were Jesse’s feelings when he
learned one of his sons would be king? Pride? Shock? A fearful trembling? He
called them together and lined them up by age, height, and brawn. But
one-by-one, Samuel dismissed them: the strapping Eliab, the burly Abinadab, the
finely-chiseled Shammah. Seven altogether. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The preacher can use hands, standing on
tiptoe, gesturing to illustrate the gradually receding bulk of these fine boys.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Lord spoke each time to Samuel—but
how? Did the others hear? Was it a whisper? An interior voice? The Lord said,
“Have no regard for his appearance or stature, because I haven’t selected him.
God doesn’t look at things like humans do. Humans see only what is visible to
the eyes, but the <span class="smallcaps">Lord</span> sees into the heart” (1 Sam
16:7). Preachers can expand upon this at length; more on this in a moment. For
now, we might want to locate times the meek and unlikely were the game-changers
(Rosa Parks?).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We might compare God’s vision
to the way Thomas Kuhn spoke of revolutions in perspective: people thought the
world was flat until Copernicus explained things from a very different
viewpoint – and nothing was ever the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>God’s way isn’t about ability, strength, IQ, street smarts, agility, or
savvy. It’s about the “heart”—although really it’s just about God choosing whom
God chooses.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div class="bodytext" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Puzzled, Samuel shrugged. Only then did
Jesse acknowledge that, well, yes, “There is still the youngest one . . . but
he’s out keeping the sheep” (v. 11). The obvious deduction is that Jesse didn’t
even consider the possibility that this little one might be the one. But could
it be that Jesse actually feared David might be the one? That he saw
unprecedented potential in him? Or perhaps he was simply the one he loved the
most—the unexpected child of old age, the apple of his eye? The writer does
take note that David “was reddish brown, had beautiful eyes, and was
good-looking” (v. 12). Perhaps Jesse wanted to keep this small but handsome one
home to shelter him for himself and from the perils of kingship.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Christian history features so many stories
of parents blocking their children’s calling to sainthood. Francis of Assisi’s
father, Pietro, was so mortified when his son began giving to the poor with
total abandon that he took him to court and disowned him. Pope Francis’s mother
was crushed when he reported he was headed into the priesthood instead of to
medical school, and she would not speak to him or forgive him for some time.
How many women and men never became great heroes of the church because parents
restrained them and wouldn’t let go?</span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Francesca Aran Murphy points out that
there is not one divine miracle in the entire sixteen chapters of the story of
David’s rise from obscurity to power. As she puts it, “God’s working has gone
underground.” Leaders understand that God’s working generally is underground;
rarely does anything remotely miraculous save the day. What matters is trusting
that God’s working is still going on, as unseen as water being soaked up by the
roots of a tree.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div class="bodytext" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or maybe we develop a different kind of
seeing. The verb <span class="italic"><em>see</em></span> (<span class="italic"><em>ra’ah</em></span>)
occurs six times in the story of David’s anointing; “the <span class="smallcaps">Lord</span>
does not see as mortals see” (v. 7 NRSV). How does God see? How can we see as
God sees? Can we see things as they really are instead of being deceived by
what is only superficially visible? As Gandalf wrote in a letter to Frodo in <span class="italic"><em>The Lord of the Rings</em></span>, “All that is gold does not glitter.”
In <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Little Prince</i> we find this
memorable quote: “It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is
essential is invisible to the eye.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or
that Native American saying: “We teach our children to see when there is
nothing to see, and to listen where there is nothing to hear.” It’s common to
say a leader is responsible for having a vision; 1 Samuel’s take might be that
the leader is someone who can see and who sees clearly and deeply.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div class="bodytext" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Hebrew word for “see,” <span class="italic"><em>ra’ah</em></span>, is one barely distinguishable sound away from <span class="italic"><em>ra‘ah</em></span>, the word for “shepherd.” We might think of shepherds
as lowly and despised, poor laborers of no account. Yet there is always an
ambiguity to the image of a shepherd. Yes, they spent their days and nights out
of doors with smelly animals who tended to nibble themselves lost. Mothers
didn’t fantasize that their daughters would marry shepherds one day. And yet in
the agrarian, pastoral culture of the world in those days, where sheep were
everywhere and they mattered for survival, even the mightiest kings of Sumer,
Babylon, Assyria, and Egypt were often dubbed the “shepherds” of their people. David
was a shepherd boy, but his responsibilities—to care for the flock, insure they
got food and water, protect them from harm, bring them safely home—were
identical to those of the good ruler.</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<div class="bodytext" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don’t many of our stories wind up like
David’s? Public events and private lives twist, turn, and collide. The pursuit
of power and pleasure gets mixed up with efforts to be pious and faithful, and
the results are mixed: some success and some disaster. This is life in God’s
world: we do our best, but then cruel processes of history steamroll
everybody—yet somehow they almost accidentally further God’s kingdom. Does God
cause or even superintend all this? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
live, always, with this mystery: where is God in it all? There are hints,
clues, guesses, wonderings. But who can be sure?</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The epistle, </span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="epistle_reading"></a><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="citation1"><strong>2
Corinthians 5:6-10, (11-13), 14-17, </strong></span><span class="citation1"><span style="font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">flawlessly picks up on this vision thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“We walk by faith, not by sight.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Faith is a peculiar way of seeing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or I recall David Steinmetz, lecturing the
Reformation, explaining how most theologians trusted in what they could see –
but Martin Luther insisted that the organ of faith is the ear, not the
eye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“The eyes are hard of hearing.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What we see can deceive; but the Word we hear
is trustworthy, enduring forever, creative of new, unseen life.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span class="citation1"><span style="font-weight: normal; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">
</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two little details beg for
attention – as details to which we typically under-attend (so I guess they
aren’t little details at all!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paul
suggests that the purpose of life isn’t the be good or do good but to please
the Lord.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Want to know how fabulous,
significant and powerful you are?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You
have the ability to please God – or to displease God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God opens God’s holy self to the
vulnerability of being pleased, or not, by people like us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And we know we will falter terribly – but I
then take heart from the famous Merton prayer<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">, “</i></span><em><span lang="EN" style="font-style: normal;">My Lord God,
I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot
know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact
that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually
doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.
And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never
do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead
me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I
trust you always, though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I
will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my
perils alone.</span></em><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>At the same time, it is<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>hard
to scare up a mainline denominational sermon that dares to speak about Paul’s
insistence that we will all appear before the judgment seat of Christ.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What we do, and how we live, is deadly
serious – and God wants us to envision that day of judgment (as the daily
prayer in the 1928 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Book of Common Prayer</i>
puts it, “Imprint upon our hearts such a dread of thy judgments, and such a
grateful sense of thy goodness to us, as may make us both afraid and ashamed to
offend thee.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And yet we needn’t tremble as we enter the courtroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God is judge and prosecuting attorney, but God
is also my defender, and the jury.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God
wants me to be released from bondage more than I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God’s is no fair, blind justice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God is absurdly, intensely, passionately
biased toward us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So yes, humbly
approach the seat of justice – and the God waiting for us is the one who shed
his blood for us, who healed the sick, who touched the untouchables, who
forgave those nobody else would tolerate?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Notice that in this season, the lectionary adds verses 18-21 – which I
like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This business of reconciliation and
reconciling and being ambassadors for God – the universal scope, not merely
individual or personal of God’s work and our ministry, is just staggering, and
beautiful and hopeful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qzr7IPsfsXE&t=1020s"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #0563c1;">I preached on 2 Corinthians 5:14-20</span></span></a></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> last year, and focused on all this – while our church was
engaged in a marvelous and impactful ten week series on Reconciliation, with
Christena Cleveland, Ben Witherington, Brenda Tapia, Matt Rawle and more; see
videos and other resources here: </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="http://www.myersparkumc.org/reconciliation/"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #0563c1;">http://www.myersparkumc.org/reconciliation/</span></span></a>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no doubt that Reconciliation is God’s
clearest calling to the church in our day, summoning us beyond simplistic forms
of forgiveness, urging us to connect at a deep level with others, in fractured
relationships, in a divided denomination, in a broken world, with other
religions, in our communities – and in mission, which isn’t the haves doing for
the have-notes, but lost people finding one another, sharing their gifts,
journeying together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one has spoken
more eloquently of this than Sam Wells, first in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Nazareth-Manifesto-Being-God/dp/0470673265/ref=pd_sim_14_5?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=0470673265&pd_rd_r=WFGSTF1TKV3QT1Y0SV19&pd_rd_w=0u4Vi&pd_rd_wg=TWtd0&psc=1&refRID=WFGSTF1TKV3QT1Y0SV19"><span style="color: #0563c1;">A
Nazareth Manifesto</span></a></i>, and then in his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Incarnational-Ministry-Church-Samuel-Wells/dp/0802874851/ref=sr_1_1_twi_pap_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1520603544&sr=1-1&keywords=samuel+wells+incarnational"><span style="color: #0563c1;">Incarnational
Ministry</span></a></i> and its companion, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Incarnational-Mission-Being-Samuel-Wells/dp/080287486X/ref=sr_1_2_twi_pap_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1520603544&sr=1-2&keywords=samuel+wells+incarnational"><span style="color: #0563c1;">Incarnational
Mission</span></a></i>.</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And finally we come to the Gospel (<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mark
4:26-34),</b> which is fine (of course...) but for me just not as interesting
as the Old Testament and Epistle – or the other moments when Jesus speaks of
sowing seed (earlier in Mark 4!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus
wouldn’t have known what we smart modern people know (unless you need to attribute
omniscience to the earthly Jesus and pit him against farming realities) – that,
horticulturally speaking, the mustard seed isn’t actually the smallest; orchid
seeds, and maybe others are tinier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXg_MztI9iBPfh7LAPdjhSmKRwx8EzAv9ERX19Q4Sq0wOtlkW8c6h_Xcdh0jNtnCiv3CwFL14Y76rBTNWVrbIAixB8yhYBOTBZw2_SgVIjklzsmwF9XgK9egm8vBIuV7amL1Y_FIucAVI/s1600/ClaudeA.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="385" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXg_MztI9iBPfh7LAPdjhSmKRwx8EzAv9ERX19Q4Sq0wOtlkW8c6h_Xcdh0jNtnCiv3CwFL14Y76rBTNWVrbIAixB8yhYBOTBZw2_SgVIjklzsmwF9XgK9egm8vBIuV7amL1Y_FIucAVI/s320/ClaudeA.JPG" width="288" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This parable is utterly uninterested in human efforts (which is required
for farming to happen well); I’m reminded of the old joke about the guy who
bought an abandoned farm, cleared the fields, plowed, planted – and then as his
crops came in the local preacher said to him, “Look what God has done!” – to which
the farmer replied, “Well yes, but do you remember what it was like when God
was working this farm alone?” And yet Mark’s theology is on target: the real
growth, the miracle of the seed, soil, sun and rain, comes from God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot pass here without directing all
preachers to the most moving, helpful sermon I’ve ever heard directed to clergy
– from my friend Bishop Claude Alexander (</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4_SgZHms3iw"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #0563c1;">watch here</span></span></a></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"> – and
don’t miss the music that follows his sermon!).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His way of speaking of God’s hand being on the field while the farmer
sleeps: just brilliant, so encouraging, and theologically humbling and hopeful.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinzM4VHVGrkJAKbA4Ued_ILWLwIqDwiLOmMTTWxxzu86kDcKcWqwOAZF4boVCB3pwvYsGEep17g4d1Vf6gYKqKe19TRpbeyhZFpeoExqNKPU8-xpPcFOqi0a1mt6UHY_sgMT0AKoV97F0/s1600/WeakEnough.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-right: 16px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="259" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinzM4VHVGrkJAKbA4Ued_ILWLwIqDwiLOmMTTWxxzu86kDcKcWqwOAZF4boVCB3pwvYsGEep17g4d1Vf6gYKqKe19TRpbeyhZFpeoExqNKPU8-xpPcFOqi0a1mt6UHY_sgMT0AKoV97F0/s320/WeakEnough.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="207" /></span></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> My newest book, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Weak-Enough-Lead-Powerful-Leadership/dp/1501842633">Weak Enough to Lead</a></i>, is available, and my next most recent book, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Worshipful-Living-Sunday-Morning-Week/dp/1625642474/ref=pd_lpo_sbs_14_t_0?_encoding=UTF8&psc=1&refRID=KP72KA2MVT6X5XKNY0F8">Worshipful</a></i>, now has an <a href="http://www.myersparkumc.org/worshipful/">online study guide</a> with video clips.</span></div>
</span></div>
James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-12152644648902618632024-01-01T01:53:00.000-08:002024-02-28T05:30:19.635-08:00What can we say June 23? 5th after Pentecost<p> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">1
Samuel 17</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">. That children love the David and Goliath story should give us
some pause. It’s violent, ending in decapitation! Perhaps children, being
small, love the small one winning – although I suspect Francesca Aran Murphy (in
her fine </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Brazos </i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">commentary) is right
about us adults and this story: “We yearn to believe that ‘strength is made
perfect in weakness’ (2 Cor. 12:9).” </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheT51ZmABCMZDN2krvfACF15SkHGKg7dKQ3Q0BFOZdiYVdmQKU9y-KQrTq1bkhUwJHyhqzdSMpxRO_1MffobklJg3cWAS6_-Xv135SoJltFXZdre98uZTfJyVrfDXTxCffHJGtXEdRNIM/s1140/bradpitt.gif" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="798" data-original-width="1140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheT51ZmABCMZDN2krvfACF15SkHGKg7dKQ3Q0BFOZdiYVdmQKU9y-KQrTq1bkhUwJHyhqzdSMpxRO_1MffobklJg3cWAS6_-Xv135SoJltFXZdre98uZTfJyVrfDXTxCffHJGtXEdRNIM/s320/bradpitt.gif" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> I’m not a fan of Richard Gere – but gosh, he
was marvelous in the film <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">King David</i>!
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xvybqzBa3QQ&list=PLS-D28RUXbPFruVacVEnW9mW-FzfS-NK9&index=10">The
Goliath scene</a> is exceedingly well-done – although I’d also commend the way
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_z5UKystdZg">Brad Pitt played Achilles in his one-on-one contest with Boagrius</a> in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Helen of Troy</i>! Our lection isn’t about
the underdog winning against all odds. It’s about who’s God, and who isn’t – a theological
contest waged then and now.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>David
has been toting his brothers’ lunchboxes when they are off at war when he
stumbles into his dramatic moment. The details make the story: Goliath’s armor
weighs 5000 shekels. Saul’s armor is way lighter, but still too heavy for this
lad. Goliath is 6 cubits and a span (9’ 6”) – and this is clearly our most
fascinating textual variant maybe in all of Scripture: the Dead Sea Scrolls
manuscript of 1 Samuel has him at a mere 4 cubits and a span (6’ 6”) – huge by
ancient standards! Copyists were more likely, over time, to make him taller –
like the proverbial fish I caught.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZKb2QJkt5qfAmEHYwhvqHqD9Mk9AgesQWLFaczOjZ-ULBI1-LLYlHFw5eaBY2Wm2cvYczNJgij5DGXviHo2VJmSW14KzW9yedXqT8ze6UM37wdU79_RCMiaM2i1ZwAIjyNneCozqVVv0/s600/davidgoliath.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="502" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZKb2QJkt5qfAmEHYwhvqHqD9Mk9AgesQWLFaczOjZ-ULBI1-LLYlHFw5eaBY2Wm2cvYczNJgij5DGXviHo2VJmSW14KzW9yedXqT8ze6UM37wdU79_RCMiaM2i1ZwAIjyNneCozqVVv0/s320/davidgoliath.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> David bravely offers to fight – laughably.
Saul scolds him: “You are not able to go” – perhaps reminding us of the hymn “Are
Ye Able, said the Master.” The sturdy dreamers, those eager beaver disciples,
answer Yes! – but of course, they are not able. David is able. Or lucky? His
slingshot accuracy: was that little rock divinely guided? Sheer luck? Or was he
a genius of a marksman (a marksboy)? Who knows? Preachers can leave such
questions dangling – as that very uncertainty is the way we experience God, or
luck, or some mix of those and skill and effort in daily life.</span><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">David has a sharp tongue, considerable sass,
his mocking verbiage more eloquent and nasty than Goliath’s. Who’s God? “A
little child shall lead them,” and show them God – as Jesus did, and as Jesus would suggest that
we too must become like children. I preached from this text at my aunt’s
funeral. It struck me as fitting, with Jesus the Rock of Ages felling the
giant, Death – but then I wonder if it’s easier to declare this in the hour of
death than in the daily rigors of battling addiction or culture or depression
or… fill in the blanks with the giants not so easily toppled. Again, in the
sermon, it’s really fine to name this. People know already.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; margin: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4QdYmILDs5qC8_EWxqW8ArB0-j_NWYLV7a8OJfSJAg8NAGgWLRd0ifXZl0fSYwvaDVUMVc1_aOkDAutGcVVgnwV2-DuRsb6mu_WMQCwwXsmzMgYhVI-TY-FiVFG9SFms6b-Ec2m4uYtQ0g6nO4SrbXYgrLwvRCljKwg3ixMSutKJqLNfYrKAAIJhA504/s506/WeakEnough.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="506" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4QdYmILDs5qC8_EWxqW8ArB0-j_NWYLV7a8OJfSJAg8NAGgWLRd0ifXZl0fSYwvaDVUMVc1_aOkDAutGcVVgnwV2-DuRsb6mu_WMQCwwXsmzMgYhVI-TY-FiVFG9SFms6b-Ec2m4uYtQ0g6nO4SrbXYgrLwvRCljKwg3ixMSutKJqLNfYrKAAIJhA504/s320/WeakEnough.PNG" width="211" /></a></div> King Saul, tall and covered with armor, was the official leader. And yet David was the one who led. Unprotected, unknown, uncredentialed, David was small enough, even <b><i>weak enough, to lead</i></b> (as in my book on this theme!!)</span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7IXi3Wf2_4MY5dmY97hu6CTNFsOlUgecpz4cyBcV2YZY7w0ixqgNn0-HJTqpsWZkdUTdxxXSrNiPrMPcF5FZ-jD-S-wv3AhwffMPAK_Zm4RyQa_KOtGhYw8kf6dxcYMTZt2PvNq5HKSs/s1600/DavidGoliathGladwell.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="354" data-original-width="245" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7IXi3Wf2_4MY5dmY97hu6CTNFsOlUgecpz4cyBcV2YZY7w0ixqgNn0-HJTqpsWZkdUTdxxXSrNiPrMPcF5FZ-jD-S-wv3AhwffMPAK_Zm4RyQa_KOtGhYw8kf6dxcYMTZt2PvNq5HKSs/s320/DavidGoliathGladwell.JPG" width="221" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> We wouldn’t extract too many “leadership principles” from this story, or we’d be putting little kids with pluck in charge of all the big churches and companies. Malcolm Gladwell wrote about cases where the underdog wins through cunning and surprise and how a disadvantage can become an advantage; he titled his book <span style="margin: 0px;"><i>David and Goliath</i></span>.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJe3QXewh6N3fB7dNpNaRgMH2pHFn4KrR6c8xDw6RoWADuCvdBAUptcc0qjhZTyVsCk49j0rIj2SiULgUymrUxhGCFBbbQub3w8Nl9dtnxb844HUQkFcN4ZW7cmlLZ_CXVAK4LL9ru4Q/s1600/PeterDrucker.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="356" data-original-width="340" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPJe3QXewh6N3fB7dNpNaRgMH2pHFn4KrR6c8xDw6RoWADuCvdBAUptcc0qjhZTyVsCk49j0rIj2SiULgUymrUxhGCFBbbQub3w8Nl9dtnxb844HUQkFcN4ZW7cmlLZ_CXVAK4LL9ru4Q/s320/PeterDrucker.JPG" width="305" /></a></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>David does appear to be something of what Peter Drucker would call a “natural,” someone with confidence who effortlessly inspires and understands priorities. David’s shedding of conventional weaponry is intriguing, isn’t it? Do we stick with tried and true methods? With what has always been effective? When can leaders travel a little lighter, experimenting with the unconventional? Can we get out of a rut by asking a real child? Or at least asking what impact our action might have on a small child? I know a real estate developer who got involved in educational equity in his spare time. Realizing one of his projects would unwittingly contribute to skewed disadvantages for children not far from his project, he altered his plan, made allowances for poorer residents, didn’t cash in as much profit as he could have, but did what he believed God was asking him to do.</span></div><div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 0in;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6lwm727ALJCtrv1OdulkcTLwXXN2KnZ9LkiiI3cp-w8F4q9pHTj-3CLzvmALDcaRiQKYkOlPF9ioJ4dPrBC9qpJI7_ziqKJ0afP3_yqDXcUjw5L1gZAjmci0nfhEGUzQVDyLqf7G7SqY/s1600/golgotha.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="289" data-original-width="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6lwm727ALJCtrv1OdulkcTLwXXN2KnZ9LkiiI3cp-w8F4q9pHTj-3CLzvmALDcaRiQKYkOlPF9ioJ4dPrBC9qpJI7_ziqKJ0afP3_yqDXcUjw5L1gZAjmci0nfhEGUzQVDyLqf7G7SqY/s1600/golgotha.JPG" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span></span></p><div style="line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-indent: 0in;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The beheading is grisly… but I love the suggestion I first heard in Hertzberg’s classic <i>Old Testament Library</i> commentary on <i>1 & 2 Samuel</i> – that the anachronistic notice that David took Goliath’s head to Jerusalem (which wasn’t a place for the Israelites just yet…) has a titillating reference.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Jesus was crucified at Golgotha (hear the <i>Gol</i> in there, as in <i>Gol</i>iath) – the “place of the skull,” perhaps a traditional understanding that the big stone outcropping was the head of Goliath, deposited there by David centuries before.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The theological suggestiveness of this is rich indeed...</span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">2
Corinthians 6:1-13</b> won’t be my preaching text. But as I often do, an unused
lectionary text can speak to me as a person and as a pastor. My life in
ministry has its sufferings – but so paltry compared to what Paul endured. And
yet I feel embraced by him and his story. I’ve not borne beatings. Well, verbal
beatings, yes… I’ve not been imprisoned for my ministry, but I’ve barely made
it through many sleepless nights. Ill repute, yes – and treated as an impostor,
for sure. Sorrowful? On even the most fruitful days in pastoral life, maybe
especially on those days. Paul is generous to enfold me in his experience and
love.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi65lGsOy_mGzt2MuSLPE_yUf6f0A2kyUX36hk5n2q3KNaM9axwXZS0fTw9Tzj7dkzjUy_9E5Uv4ljBN4UPaNV_AoA3bbsShTG1WcYdQFrSHolW4jEKcZawoBa9WROHfQFNUcdyrdSuhtg/s1018/JesusBoat3.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="764" data-original-width="1018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi65lGsOy_mGzt2MuSLPE_yUf6f0A2kyUX36hk5n2q3KNaM9axwXZS0fTw9Tzj7dkzjUy_9E5Uv4ljBN4UPaNV_AoA3bbsShTG1WcYdQFrSHolW4jEKcZawoBa9WROHfQFNUcdyrdSuhtg/s320/JesusBoat3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <b>Mark 4:35-41</b>. Jesus stills the storm from a
small wooden boat in the teeth of a vicious storm. Archaeologists discovered a real fishing boat from Jesus’ time. Fabulous! But would you want to be in this thing weathering
a major storm? <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-family: georgia; mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnWcYmVIYTqDCPmEhtsqJaF1IL7qlboESNp-FjSbCvf01PJamX8sDXcS_fG4ROGIFxhBabqmBAZmDIZ2cO_zROOkXNCa4gAtwoeP8111HM6BKwTxfZWVeBgp9ojozNgr7R7nj10DmZrc/s320/BoatGalileeStorm.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnWcYmVIYTqDCPmEhtsqJaF1IL7qlboESNp-FjSbCvf01PJamX8sDXcS_fG4ROGIFxhBabqmBAZmDIZ2cO_zROOkXNCa4gAtwoeP8111HM6BKwTxfZWVeBgp9ojozNgr7R7nj10DmZrc/s0/BoatGalileeStorm.jpg" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> God does
not mind if we ask, Did these stories about Jesus really happen? Or are they
symbolic? I suspect the answer is Yes? Jesus and the disciples leave a crowd on
the shore to cross to the other side of the Sea of Galilee. Not all that far,
maybe 3 or 4 miles. You can see all the way across. You probably know that this
body of water is legendary for the sudden irruption (eruption!) of wind gales
and terrible waves. The photo here is of me reading this story to pilgrims from
our church travelling with me. When I opened the Bible, the sun was out and it
was pretty calm. By the time I’d gotten people’s attention and read just these
7 verses, the wind was howling, and in another minute sheets of rain were
pelting us and the ship was rocking nauseously.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such a
storm overtook the disciples in a far smaller boat than the one we were in.
Terrified disciples, having lots friends and maybe family in such wicked
storms, panic – and remember Jesus is with them. And he is – astonishingly –
asleep on a cushion. Lucky cushion… Easy to imagine them shaking him, startling
him, as they ask “Don’t you care if we perish?” It’s not at all that he doesn’t
care. He’s just the ultimate “non-anxious presence.” It’s as if he is enacting
for them, and us, that verse from Psalm 46: “Be still, and know that I am God.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI74JC0dzd_q7WGHjOg4x-dms71NXzs0brO1KTD7nlCHyqzFhg6f_RbfMrfUiCWGFOU1YGVWdNPPVNRUutecfsjHUYdGPCiBhph5Aj63fx-pNTcYF5Uf4zWlWeSWUaF7TBCtb9k3RQ4gk/s536/JonahMichelangelo.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="536" data-original-width="529" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI74JC0dzd_q7WGHjOg4x-dms71NXzs0brO1KTD7nlCHyqzFhg6f_RbfMrfUiCWGFOU1YGVWdNPPVNRUutecfsjHUYdGPCiBhph5Aj63fx-pNTcYF5Uf4zWlWeSWUaF7TBCtb9k3RQ4gk/s320/JonahMichelangelo.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Not
flustered in the least, Jesus stands up and speaks: “Peace. Be still.” Quirky
question: was he speaking to the storm? Or to the quaking disciples? Yes? I
hear echoes of the story of Jonah here. Storm rising, main character asleep,
then the storm calms – and yet Jonah is the antithesis of Jesus. He’s on the
run away from God, so terrified that he sleeps a sleep of denial. Mark 4:35-41
invites us to notice Jesus is with us in our storms, that he is the bringer of
peace, that ours is to heed his call and not be like Jonah – and that God’s
business isn’t just private, human souls but all of Creation.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; margin: 0px;"> Regarding preaching this text, I once saw the charismatic Methodist preacher Walter Kimbrough walk down into the crowd as he was re-narrating the story.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid2Q_5jc_W0n13USTgjfW6qU7HZfRrsQMYhAZ2__sYk-Ad5l0j32m6Aicfn-98FeJJeQgJA6XPYuWXiqjKnBRs3FgXWYIz0ddXflgaS4-_Rnr7LPY2JRW-mSy26ZkSsrbBRbc7hlDBpog/s1600/WalterKimbrough.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="248" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid2Q_5jc_W0n13USTgjfW6qU7HZfRrsQMYhAZ2__sYk-Ad5l0j32m6Aicfn-98FeJJeQgJA6XPYuWXiqjKnBRs3FgXWYIz0ddXflgaS4-_Rnr7LPY2JRW-mSy26ZkSsrbBRbc7hlDBpog/s320/WalterKimbrough.JPG" width="235" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">When he got to the part about them finding Jesus, he grabbed a guy on a pew and began shaking him, pleading with him, “Don’t you care if we perish?”<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I tried this in my own church.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Went well at services one and two, but then at our third service I just picked the wrong guy.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Try this at your own peril…..</span><br style="font-family: "Times New Roman";" /><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0px;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The theology is profound.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>I love the question: when Jesus said, Peace, be still – was he speaking to the sea (of course he was…) or to the jittery, frenzied disciples?<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Psalm 46 echoes through it all: Be still, and know that I am God.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The creation aspect underlines what I think N.T. Wright has argued for – that God’s redemptive work isn’t limited to the salvation of individual people, but is a creation-wide recovery project.</span></div></span></div></div>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-86913219371595636342024-01-01T01:51:00.000-08:002024-03-04T19:44:41.339-08:00What can we say June 30? 6th after Pentecost<p><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhISijwIqa-d9f9FxsCeYXfSqdI2TRRbuhHR4A52DS1XPu5shIepvrujhhLzvh7KZOA1-sl9NEJvK7Y2qknQSflUiQhBRJOMhQ3foE73LDZp3WqQu_rLDb6x1MMhEu4tC1sWhQZFyM9_PdiA4czCMm4icJQaneVI2SSxVXqs3qXEnxEuf2SqSy9Xqew__A/s500/JesusJuly4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="357" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhISijwIqa-d9f9FxsCeYXfSqdI2TRRbuhHR4A52DS1XPu5shIepvrujhhLzvh7KZOA1-sl9NEJvK7Y2qknQSflUiQhBRJOMhQ3foE73LDZp3WqQu_rLDb6x1MMhEu4tC1sWhQZFyM9_PdiA4czCMm4icJQaneVI2SSxVXqs3qXEnxEuf2SqSy9Xqew__A/s320/JesusJuly4.jpg" width="228" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> We are upon July 4... not a liturgical holiday, yet ignored only at our peril. Check out <a href="https://revjameshowell.blogspot.com/2010/07/jesus-and-july-4.html">my blog from yesteryear </a>on "Jesus and July 4." How to give a nod to the mood and images of the day without selling out to the ideology?? I always suspect we can tip people off that we can about national goodness without indulging in the whole panoply of ridiculousness... </span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><b>2 Samuel 1:1, 17-27</b>. I love it when, in
preaching, you can say out loud something like "the book of Jashar," or a placename like Ziklag. Sounds exotic, but
particular – like we’re stepping through the wardrobe into Narnia. It’s a
tragedy. Saul, slain in battle. David’s lament is eloquent, hard to improve
upon by commenting on it. Years ago, I speculated about the idea of a book club
in heaven, whose members are the biblical writers, Matthew, Paul, Isaiah,
Moses, Peter, John, and David. Do they praise David for this beautiful lament?
What other great sorrowful expressions of grief do they admire and wish they
could have mustered? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBU3UXYuU5dq4Qn6nz5kBiX130Aru028OSNwoWITKbieSQbwtYbnfbIKI9L9OFZ71WseriPVGfJO0xdsKfdNisfrQ_PIUjkJnD2DSys4pAFmn3Ngw6p6iDyQtwpiSDyJ1ZSYqDGmtvLKA/s499/Iliad.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="359" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBU3UXYuU5dq4Qn6nz5kBiX130Aru028OSNwoWITKbieSQbwtYbnfbIKI9L9OFZ71WseriPVGfJO0xdsKfdNisfrQ_PIUjkJnD2DSys4pAFmn3Ngw6p6iDyQtwpiSDyJ1ZSYqDGmtvLKA/s320/Iliad.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> I am always moved by Homer’s vision (in the <i>Iliad</i>) of Andromache
learning of Hector’s death: “‘My heart is in my throat, my knees are like ice… O
God, I’m afraid Achilles has cut off my brave Hector, and has put an end to my
husband’s cruel courage.’ She ran outdoors like a madwoman, heart racing. Black
night swept over her eyes. She reeled backward, gasping, and her veil and
glittering headbands flew off.” Consider Walt Whitman's marvelous poems, "O Captain, My Captain," and "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd," composed at the death of a public figure as pivotal as David, Abraham Lincoln. More personally, much of Emily Dickinson's poetry is fixated on death. And there's W.H. Auden’s “Stop all the clocks, cut off
the telephone, prevent the dog from barking, silence the pianos and with
muffled drum bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. He was my North, my
South, my East and West, my working week and my Sunday rest.” Preachers are way
too swift to correct or fix grief, whereas Scripture enables the grief to
deepen, as it must.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9nqV-IZl3d5XrbWOowqCHavST8tXSskQYI3F2sIyHiZ4_2DXNoNWpPYDM9G-t1SldsliyqHuSlc_FrCTosqm89GNIU4_XM-iLek0YZgTNH-GAfQ7VWdfZm3U_7xa7otvdT2FpJCa8Qc/s858/churchillchamberlain.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="791" data-original-width="858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ9nqV-IZl3d5XrbWOowqCHavST8tXSskQYI3F2sIyHiZ4_2DXNoNWpPYDM9G-t1SldsliyqHuSlc_FrCTosqm89GNIU4_XM-iLek0YZgTNH-GAfQ7VWdfZm3U_7xa7otvdT2FpJCa8Qc/s320/churchillchamberlain.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> With 2 Samuel 1 and these and other poems,
shrieks really, we see how questions of suffering and beauty play out. The
preacher’s job isn’t to squelch grief, but to discern the love, the loveliness,
and odd catharsis in its expression. Notice, in a shocking way to us, how David
is gracious to his foe, perhaps the way Churchill spoke glowingly and
appreciatively at the funeral for his nemesis, Neville Chamberlain. There’s Gospel
in this simple fact. Walter Brueggemann suggests that “this poem is a useful
model for public grief among us,” busy as we get with power and our pet
ideologies. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="font-family: georgia; mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSxlOEZnvjy8PDsdcQqzD2nEoemVjSrcBEgjoIODc7okGHTeKruS3FzBOFivkdWeGVWxET4QFd3zLHeIPkcSG-4GQ3ut6zrTHj0N6zgF276Xi0ORQbwPZ3XsZMN7vTVlS-mJk-GeVr5DY/s1024/ozy.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="946" data-original-width="1024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSxlOEZnvjy8PDsdcQqzD2nEoemVjSrcBEgjoIODc7okGHTeKruS3FzBOFivkdWeGVWxET4QFd3zLHeIPkcSG-4GQ3ut6zrTHj0N6zgF276Xi0ORQbwPZ3XsZMN7vTVlS-mJk-GeVr5DY/s320/ozy.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Little details in David’s lament intrigue. “How
the mighty have fallen” is a testament to what happens to all the powers, even
those we treasure like our own – reminding me of Shelley’s poem, surveying a
ruin in Egypt: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone stand in the desert… near
them half sunk a shattered visage lies… On the pedestal these words appear: “My
name is Ozymandias, King of Kings; look on my works, ye mighty and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and
bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away.” So it is with the powers of
this world.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Notice the weeping of the daughters of
Israel, drawing our minds to the weeping of the women who watched Jesus
trudging toward Calvary bearing the weight of his cross. David alludes to the “heights”
– but does he mean simply the high ground where the battle was fought, or is he
subtly reminding us of Saul’s and Israel’s repeated idolatry at the “high places”?
Saul’s sword “did not return empty” – but it did, even when he tried to use it
to kill David himself! What a great, unusual, untidy, marvelous, and utterly
unboring sermon could be preached on this great text!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwEgyGEwh6jL46hYsMBEAhFtiT2aA5SocdnNYL0Mrw0TCMixrB7-_oNYkxjZbPMRSpbpt3Ffg7kWeYLfkiiBpYskULuRZYeQHO7gvMNRAVQrJ-6AU_BrouBDoWbOf0rRaLiqZQIbb6bfk/s499/Worshipful.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwEgyGEwh6jL46hYsMBEAhFtiT2aA5SocdnNYL0Mrw0TCMixrB7-_oNYkxjZbPMRSpbpt3Ffg7kWeYLfkiiBpYskULuRZYeQHO7gvMNRAVQrJ-6AU_BrouBDoWbOf0rRaLiqZQIbb6bfk/s320/Worshipful.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <b>2 Corinthians 8:7-15</b>. Paul launches the
greatest, most theologically profound fundraiser ever. We need to recall that
charity, giving for others, especially those you don’t know personally, simply
did not exist until Paul started it. The model and motivation for generosity?
No prosperity Gospel, no obligation, but a sensible, passionate reply to and
imitation of Christ’s generosity! <span>In</span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> my book, </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Worshipful-Living-Sunday-Morning-Week/dp/1625642474">Worshipful: Living Sunday Morning All Week</a></i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">, I explore how the offering collection opens up an invitation
for us to ponder all of our money in light of Christ’s generosity. Lots of stuff in just 10 pages there, including...</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBklLbprnjqiV5YPAU-xNiJc_aXOsyNgf4kWMdOOLtWrQpzNosH-xtfiqGT8s7UrAHxewpit8DJJuIFGp5D9eAE0Qx1BDKq3_b3-7NXI-1ohlNLMut2VyM-wZ7Pre4C04AmRMS1Ynfy1g/s320/MotherTeresa.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBklLbprnjqiV5YPAU-xNiJc_aXOsyNgf4kWMdOOLtWrQpzNosH-xtfiqGT8s7UrAHxewpit8DJJuIFGp5D9eAE0Qx1BDKq3_b3-7NXI-1ohlNLMut2VyM-wZ7Pre4C04AmRMS1Ynfy1g/s0/MotherTeresa.jpg" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> Mother (St.
now!) Teresa: “You must give what will cost you something. This is giving not
what you can live without, but what you can’t live without or don’t want to
live without. Something you really like. Then your gift becomes a sacrifice
which has value before God. This giving until it hurts is what I call love in
action.” </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjudqOlD1amGnln-IZl3OsFOss834O4dG6ef_wVz-F6lCdZSLMx-uJywxIw5i1OyOcfLt_RGK5eSLnfSx_YVPES1sAC_NyBZYs_kgZJyQHKr07LjLsaJ4hhmlc3Z5iychJ5Ff1LTX_5r1Y/s400/Gilead.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="254" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjudqOlD1amGnln-IZl3OsFOss834O4dG6ef_wVz-F6lCdZSLMx-uJywxIw5i1OyOcfLt_RGK5eSLnfSx_YVPES1sAC_NyBZYs_kgZJyQHKr07LjLsaJ4hhmlc3Z5iychJ5Ff1LTX_5r1Y/s320/Gilead.jpg" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> Check out my book and this chapter, which focuses on God loving a “cheerful
giver” (from this same 2 Corinthians fundraising letter!) – with examples like St.
Francis’s friend Brother Juniper giving away all his stuff, even the clothes
off his back, and the possessions of other friars! (it’s “cheerful,” the Greek
meaning “hilarious”), or the grandfather in Marilynne Robinson’s <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Gilead</i>: “He would take laundry right off
the line. I believe he was a saint of some kind. There was an innocence in him.
He lacked patience for anything but the plainest interpretation of the starkest
commandments. ‘To him who asks, give,’ in particular.”</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMihxtGXw-sli0fkrbWLMH6j3cO5CugSDSAIYAeq7u73kHxa-dutzNSZkyL5eaiDb5rbQpoYOooI3AkK60asV83r5mn1hDFCI1S6bNnb2S-XQ35wWpRrxSb4flvlji5AZM7lSGPcAXESI/s1276/Magdala13.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="956" data-original-width="1276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMihxtGXw-sli0fkrbWLMH6j3cO5CugSDSAIYAeq7u73kHxa-dutzNSZkyL5eaiDb5rbQpoYOooI3AkK60asV83r5mn1hDFCI1S6bNnb2S-XQ35wWpRrxSb4flvlji5AZM7lSGPcAXESI/s320/Magdala13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> <b>Mark 5:21-43</b>. There’s a painting I’ve loved
so much I made it my Facebook photo a while back. It’s in a lovely chapel
on the shore of the Sea of Galilee in the village of Magdala, Mary Magdalene’s
home town. At ground level, this painting shows the woman reaching out to touch
the hem of Jesus’ garment - from her lowly, ground-level perspective.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She must be a woman of considerable means,
having spent huge sums on doctors, in a day when most people couldn’t afford
any doctor ever. But all the cash and care money could buy didn’t bring her any
health. She was sick and tired of being sick and tired – until she heard about
Jesus. Due to her illness, she would have been regarded as unclean, not welcome
in any crowd, much less coming face to face with this travelling rabbi / healer
/ maybe Messiah. But she presses forward, as close as possible without being
noticed, barely brushing her hand against the low hem of Jesus’ robe.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Voila!</i>
She is healed. Power flowed from him, into her – and he wasn’t even trying. No
wonder we speak of the Master’s touch, the way simply being close to Jesus
brings an unanticipated wholeness. Jesus notices, puzzling his disciples – and
then he has more mercy on her, treating her like no one else would, as a whole,
infinitely valued child of God.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; tab-stops: 42.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5RlJcpNN1vvHBr0AC4oeH-FeDrSA77xw-XxhXQPXVtjGgSD6kwc6lFgJIqyN53C0XV2iE2Oom4efjU2R3FgiWo79VjrIuim4oxeJ5ayWxzej7OMxT0S3RwVsS-B0eA5ijsuJLO2XTW5lCQYG5RnkvMq0Zp-QfVzaI4HpvpoDEQWJuggSozg5NIm2OZr8/s385/WimanZero.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="385" data-original-width="251" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5RlJcpNN1vvHBr0AC4oeH-FeDrSA77xw-XxhXQPXVtjGgSD6kwc6lFgJIqyN53C0XV2iE2Oom4efjU2R3FgiWo79VjrIuim4oxeJ5ayWxzej7OMxT0S3RwVsS-B0eA5ijsuJLO2XTW5lCQYG5RnkvMq0Zp-QfVzaI4HpvpoDEQWJuggSozg5NIm2OZr8/s320/WimanZero.jpg" width="209" /></a></div> Recently I read the poet Christian Wiman’s story
about his dog, Mack, whose veterinarian was surprised to discover Mack had a
bullet in his torso he’d been carrying around for longer than Christian had
owned him. How disturbing, the reality that some man could be so cruel, and
then envisioning Mack crawling off to die, but somehow surviving, yet never
complaining in all his years in the Wiman household, “as if he’s learned that
it does not pay to let a human know what you feel.”<o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; tab-stops: 42.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">
This sweet old dog, carrying around the memory of unspeakable pain,
unknown even to those who loved him. About that time, Wiman heard a sermon on
the woman with the “issue of blood.” The preacher predictably commended faith
and trust in Jesus. Wiman’s thought? “There is not a person reading these
words, there is not a friend or family member from whom you feel utterly
estranged, there is not even a man sitting in the White House who does not
have, somewhere, a bullet festering in them. Sitting down to write these
thoughts was the first time I have ever considered all the other people around
Jesus when he healed that woman. They, too, had their issues of blood.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">
</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-top: 6pt; tab-stops: 42.0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">
Then he writes of a young woman during the Holocaust who sensed a call
from God: “There must be someone to live though it all and bear witness to the
fact that God lived, even in these times.” She attended to others who were
suffering, finding “unkillable beauty,” and discovering the happiest time of
her life. Wiman concludes: “I feel sure that there is some one pain to which
every one of us is called to witness and perhaps ease. It might be as simple as
a phone call to a family member you haven’t spoken to in too long, it might be
some thorn in the heart of a friend to whom you have not paid sufficient
attention, it might be some ordinary encounter you have in the next few hours
of this ordinary day – when suddenly you feel some power going out of you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mark’s storytelling technique is amazing –
or perhaps things just unfolded in the way he reports. When that almost magical
touch happens, Jesus is on his way to visit another child of God, a little
girl, the daughter of a powerful Roman military man, Jairus. Important mission:
saving a child. Jesus is unfailingly “interruptible.” Important things to do,
yes, always, but along the way there’s always a person, someone requiring just
some compassion, a kind look and word. Jesus shows us how to be attentive while
we’re headed toward wherever we’re going.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus gets to Jairus’s house – late. We
can’t be sure she’d have been alive if he’d ignored the woman grasping his hem. He would take his time later getting to Lazarus's tomb... The little girl has passed – and if we read slowly, we can overhear the loud wailing of
her family and neighbors. Invite your people to feel their pain. Jesus did.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love the little details of this healing.
He could have thundered a word from the yard. But he enters the home. He takes
the girl by the hand. Ask your folks to picture that. Feel your hands. <i>Precious Lord, take my
hand</i>… He speaks – and onlookers recalled what he said in his and their native
language, Aramaic, so moving that Mark, writing in Greek, records the Aramaic! <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Talitha kum</i>. Rise up, little girl. So
tender. This 12 year old girl stood up. Imagine the sound of the shock, the
rejoicing, maybe more intense than the wailing just moments earlier.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then, showing his immense compassion and
understanding, Jesus speaks to her family: “Give her something to eat.” She’s
been sick. She’s got to be famished. Let’s get back to normal. Little girls
eat. Families feed their children. Envision Jesus standing in your home. It’s
time to eat. He gets that you’re hungry. Enjoy. Be nourished. What a week to
have Holy Communion!<o:p></o:p></span></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-75548400487270388382024-01-01T01:49:00.000-08:002024-03-04T19:40:21.609-08:00What can we say come July 7? 7th after Pentecost<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTOuOjrm2hvOImyRmAevu2VktcynU4N4Pa715Sdc-fQy5wil4Nf1DW1fkRC0d96cGtLKyDlB7wSiDYCczbzYwDQV_1mqNrswubs0hrTaMouODf4UOW_ERIioXGZ62V1LCiujwa0mWdMc/s1600/IMG_0205.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguTOuOjrm2hvOImyRmAevu2VktcynU4N4Pa715Sdc-fQy5wil4Nf1DW1fkRC0d96cGtLKyDlB7wSiDYCczbzYwDQV_1mqNrswubs0hrTaMouODf4UOW_ERIioXGZ62V1LCiujwa0mWdMc/s320/IMG_0205.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some amazing texts from 2 Samuel are
coming our way in the lectionary – but not this week. In <b>2 Samuel 5:1-5, 9-10</b>,
we learn how David solidifies his reign, and builds his capital on the crest of
the hill in Jerusalem (near the water supplied by the spring Gihon). The
reference to “Millo” is fascinating, as archaeologists have studied this
complex sloping stone structure visible today, ramping its way up to what must have
become David’s palace. This week’s Psalm (48) praises God for the city’s
towers, walls, ramparts, etc. – from a period long after David.</span><div><span style="font-family: georgia, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, serif;"> Of course, just days after our national holiday (as Christians celebrate their religious freedom by <b><i>not</i></b> showing up in worship!) - we have to weigh Jesus and July4. My <a href="https://revjameshowell.blogspot.com/2010/07/jesus-and-july-4.html">blog from yesteryear</a> still holds...<br /></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikxLsazHQVSj2mpFhZB6AXlsbYgF2ya7wmSSgo5wlS69uchuf2fQzp2u5B4zjpTGqrE0CUZ0tjvFDV1xSydoGWhG-WphNDvIc4LMhDCIJIkGSkDPL-iffety16SHFzM0WikgLC49hinEbV4UKT5WxAgTTIzFAhmcTlSbf4didgV8TkMFO4RkhBAklDAAw/s499/PreachingThePsalms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikxLsazHQVSj2mpFhZB6AXlsbYgF2ya7wmSSgo5wlS69uchuf2fQzp2u5B4zjpTGqrE0CUZ0tjvFDV1xSydoGWhG-WphNDvIc4LMhDCIJIkGSkDPL-iffety16SHFzM0WikgLC49hinEbV4UKT5WxAgTTIzFAhmcTlSbf4didgV8TkMFO4RkhBAklDAAw/s320/PreachingThePsalms.jpg" width="214" /></a></div> I'm sure tempted to preach <b>Psalm 48</b>! The whole art of preaching Psalms, so pivotal in the history of Christendom (see Augustine, Luther and Calvin among many others!) is huge - and treated, I think, fairly well in my book (with Clint McCann) <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Preaching-Psalms-James-C-Howell/dp/0687044995/ref=asc_df_0687044995/?tag=hyprod-20&linkCode=df0&hvadid=343221106047&hvpos=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=4162042738624962622&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9009973&hvtargid=pla-761429725353&psc=1&mcid=53804647884b331fb0dc8045e74f1155&tag=&ref=&adgrpid=69729786195&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvadid=343221106047&hvpos=&hvnetw=g&hvrand=4162042738624962622&hvqmt=&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9009973&hvtargid=pla-761429725353&gclid=CjwKCAiA_5WvBhBAEiwAZtCU7_0w_wd-VWx5XMSrNJT-UnYoVoQLBguIRkDh8uAgXIsgmd1tyQMg4RoC1NoQAvD_BwE">Preaching the Psalms</a></i>. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia, serif;"> In this case, the gift of a city - really any city for such a nomadic, recently enslaved people - is huge, the cause of much gratitude. This Psalm's tender appreciation for the city - I mean, it is like a woman in labor, birds finding a home - is lovely, and if you've been to Jerusalem, reason for wonder. God and place matter - together. I can conceive of a sermon that does what the Psalm suggests - simply walking around Jerusalem, speaking of its walls, towers, various buildings and features, and the pilgrims who've come from all over, full of faith and joy. Jesus chose this stage as the climax of his mission. How crucial must it be?<br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our Epistle offers a word our people need
to hear – although probably not as much as we the clergy need to hear it. In <b>2
Corinthians 12:2-10</b>, Paul weirdly boasts of his profounder-than-yours spiritual
experience (as he had also boasted of his zealous adherence to the Torah). The
latest on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Paul-Biography-N-T-Wright/dp/0061730580#reader_0061730580"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #0070c0;">Paul</span></i></a> is N.T. Wright’s odd and yet
lovely new biography. He places this dramatic moment during the “decade of
silence” between Paul’s earliest conversion and then his hyper-activity in
missionary journeys and epistle-writing. Paul was “snatched up to the third
heaven” (and you have to love Wright’s aside: “Since heaven was subdivided into
seven, this itself might have seemed a bit of a letdown”). Paul’s pathetically
attempted modesty is laughable: in the way people say “I’m asking for a friend,”
Paul refers to “someone” who had this experience. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But to any who place much value at all on
having some supreme spiritual moment, Paul immediately plunges back to earth to
speak of his “thorn in the flesh.” What was it? Wright speculates: a bodily
ailment? A recurring temptation? A recurring nightmare of the stoning of
Stephen? The continuing resistance to the gospel on the part of people he loved
dearly – not just Jews in general, but his own parents, siblings and closest
friends? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paul’s credentials to be an apostle have
nothing to do with scintillating experiences or personal holiness. It’s simply
that Jesus told him to be an apostle. His qualification? Just one on that
resume: weakness – which Paul had in spades, as do we all. “My power is
perfected in weakness” – which Wright calls “exactly what Paul needed to hear,
and exactly what the Corinthians did not want to hear.” People in our world,
including those to whom you preach, do not want to hear this either. We turn to
“strengths-finders,” and you’d best be strong too. We want skills, jammed
resumes, dazzling productivity. But Paul’s message is the antithesis of all
this: </span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">"My grace
is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness. So, I will boast
all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in
me. Therefore I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions,
and calamities for the sake of Christ; for whenever I am weak, then I am strong.”</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paul’s rhetoric about the hope in
weakness, that God’s weakness is stronger than our strength (by light years,
not an inch, and not by a last-second basket), shows us that weakness might be
the key to a great many things for us, including leadership – which is what I
tried to explicate in my newest book, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Weak-Enough-Lead-Powerful-Leadership/dp/1501842633/ref=sr_1_1_twi_pap_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1511617947&sr=1-1&keywords=howell+weak+enough"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="color: #0070c0;">Weak Enough to Lead</span></i></a>.
Weakness isn’t something you grudgingly acknowledge. Weakness isn’t something
to be overcome, or you do well despite inevitable weaknesses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Weakness is who you are, what you are. God is
there, not fixing it but using it, the shattered opening to the flourishing
life of God who is met not in the stalwart, tall, good-looking or capable, but
in the broken, the wobbly, the unable, even the disabled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: georgia;">
Before turning to the Gospel, I think it is worth passing along a word of
encouragement to preachers that I cite at the end of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Weak Enough to Lead</i>;
it is from Michael Knowles, and reminds me that we preachers need encouragement
more than we need material: “The vast majority of preachers throughout the
entire history of the Christian church have conducted their ministries in
either relative or absolute obscurity. And they, by virtue of such
obscurity, best exemplify cruciform preaching as Paul intends it.
Wherever preachers stand before their congregations conscious of the folly of
the Christian message, the weakness of their efforts, and the apparent
impossibility of the entire exercise… there, Paul’s homiletic of cross and resurrection
is at work. The one resource that genuinely faithful preachers of the
gospel have in abundance is a parade of daily reminders as to their own
inadequacy, unworthiness and – dare we admit it? – lack of faithfulness.
Yet these are the preconditions for grace, the foundations for preaching that
relies on God ‘who raises the dead.’”</span><o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b>Mark 6:1-13 </b>is rich with preaching
possibilities. The existence of Jesus’ siblings: at this point in the story,
they are cause for doubt (like hey, we’ve seen him with his brothers and
sisters, he’s just a guy!); later they will be (for me at least) a ringing
endorsement of Jesus as Christ (I mean, if James, his brother, who’d played,
slept and certainly fought with him as a boy, became a leader of the church
that worshipped him? – Who better to say <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">He
was just a guy</i> if he was just a guy?).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus sent his disciples out two by two –
with next to nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They weren’t
paupers when he met them!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The fishing
business was semi-lucrative; tax collectors were prosperous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The disciples were downwardly mobile. What
intrigues is this: after sending them out nearly penniless, we hear that “</span><span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">They cast out
many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them.”
According to the Bible’s logic, there is an inextricable connection between
them divesting themselves of comforts, and success in ministry. In Acts 2 and 4
we hear that the first Christians shared possessions – and not coincidentally “Wonders
and signs were done… and the Lord added to their number.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN" style="color: black; font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>St. Francis of Assisi took Mark
6 literally. He and his friars took nothing for their journeys, no gold, no
silver. They begged. I’m struck by what Ulrich Luz (in his great little book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Matthew-History-Interpretation-Influence-Effects/dp/0800628330"><span style="color: #0070c0;">Matthew
in History</span></a></i>) had to say about Matthew 10 (the parallel to Mark 6): </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">“Almost never in
its history has the church resembled what is here described.… The church has
not consisted of itinerant radicals; quite the contrary, the radicals, whenever
they existed, were considered suspect… The idea of itinerant radicalism
disappeared almost entirely. The churches were extremely successful in ignoring
it. No wonder: a church that constructs cathedrals and that offers not only
food but both houses and cars to its workers cannot appreciate this kind of
tradition.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Want another illustration? St. Francis’s
contemporary, St. Dominic, lived a life of humility, holiness, and service,
taking our Mark 6 text seriously – and literally. On pilgrimage to Rome, he
visited the Pope, who took him on a personal tour of the gilded, opulent papal
palace and the sumptuous, glittering <span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">Lateran basilica</span>. Alluding to what Peter and John had said to the
lame man in Acts 3, the pope boasted, “No longer need we say ‘Silver and gold
have I none.’” But the humble Dominic answered, “Yes, and at the same time the
church can no longer say ‘Rise up and walk.’”</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjba-1iQMrJZKgBWgFLTPhErjOg3Wv0TW1WoDeyU18km2CoTXR3b9Znq-ivCDd8o1l6NQgEUVpgW2MjK7wJQ4XUOprkQX7umfpsOI4S9y2aPwx7FgAaIGcLfWA9uqnS4va_pt_DqmSuqzE/s1600/Worshipful.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjba-1iQMrJZKgBWgFLTPhErjOg3Wv0TW1WoDeyU18km2CoTXR3b9Znq-ivCDd8o1l6NQgEUVpgW2MjK7wJQ4XUOprkQX7umfpsOI4S9y2aPwx7FgAaIGcLfWA9uqnS4va_pt_DqmSuqzE/s320/Worshipful.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia";"> My new book, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Worshipful-Living-Sunday-Morning-Week/dp/1625642474/ref=pd_lpo_sbs_14_t_0?_encoding=UTF8&psc=1&refRID=KP72KA2MVT6X5XKNY0F8">Worshipful</a></i>, now has an <a href="http://www.myersparkumc.org/worshipful/">online study guide</a> with video clips.</span></div>
</span></div>
</div></div>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-64904204630493704112024-01-01T01:47:00.000-08:002024-03-07T08:16:27.415-08:00What can we say July 14? 8th after Pentecost<p><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">2
Samuel 6:1-19</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">. The ambiguities, the inescapable tensions that are the life
of David are in full view this early in his reign. His dark, vicious side (falsifying
any of the corny but popular devotional nonsense about David as a sweet lover
of the Lord) is etched in the pained face of Michal – on whom I </span><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m51b3QfFhLM" style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">preached last time around</a><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9GnvxTDrg-fi6bkD9GjbWNUviNl1D9GunjT_THAHu2vAAR0BS5JC7cg6y-ePnWRIk6AJJ5CFBq4vF9Hmsw4HzqNuRPXQ1jZrYtRs-JOybtTT05ZAlszIsoAzu8KcWnvm2QZ62iDQGO4YJar4hGn1B-ahGjDp8goyC_v_sb6E02Wh2x9Xhdnnx_dT2oe8/s320/AnnaCarter.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9GnvxTDrg-fi6bkD9GjbWNUviNl1D9GunjT_THAHu2vAAR0BS5JC7cg6y-ePnWRIk6AJJ5CFBq4vF9Hmsw4HzqNuRPXQ1jZrYtRs-JOybtTT05ZAlszIsoAzu8KcWnvm2QZ62iDQGO4YJar4hGn1B-ahGjDp8goyC_v_sb6E02Wh2x9Xhdnnx_dT2oe8/s1600/AnnaCarter.jpeg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> I was inspired by a sermon from one of my preaching students at Lutheran Theological Seminary - </span><span style="font-family: georgia, serif;">one of the most riveting, powerful sermons I have ever seen and heard</span><span style="font-family: georgia, serif;">. Anna Carter delved deeply into the soul of Michal, her humiliation, her ongoing emotional abuse at the hands of David, and now holding his raucous, thinly-clad dancing before the holy ark in utter disdain. Anna’s sermon didn’t fix anything or stir us to greater faith. She instead helped us feel what the writer of 2 Samuel surely wanted us to feel: the shame, the inner rage of a woman mistreated for too long. Michal had loved David, even willingly breaking with her own father. She had once saved him through a window; now she peers that a window, like the window of a prison. "Who wouldn't despise those who have harmed us and others when we see them reveling in their achievements? How can we not despise them as we watch them rejoice in God's blessing - a God who favors the one who has used God and the exploitation of others for political gain?" No "moral" here - unless you count this: "May we see Michal in the window and despise with her all who use and misuse power and authority for any kind of gain. May we despise those who use God's name and favor to oppress and abuse others." Sermons should do this: take us inside the hearts and bodies of those who suffer, especially those who suffer at the hands of the popular, religious people.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia, serif;"> I'd add: poor Michal. Typing this blog, her name gets auto-corrected </span><em style="font-family: georgia, serif;">every time</em><span style="font-family: georgia, serif;"> to Michael. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Michal: her father and brother have died,
then husband David is ice cold, belittling, even taunting her, fathering
children with others while she is childless. Now she looks on as he revels in
popularity and achievement while she alone knows his hidden shaming of her. At
least she “gazes down,” like God in judgment. There is clear sexual innuendo in
his dance – so even his piety is flaunting his waywardness. Sermons can do what
2 Samuel 6 does: simply lift up the harrowing experience of women who’ve been
scorned. They are there in the Bible. The bad behavior of the men is there too,
exposed for all to see, and shudder.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKmMXm1nAzei1gjE4KvYWNO8-b_xYbp398rKYdvbp98Crd6b_Vf0WO-HdMAi5vNlWAiJ719HNVIc38aUAJiBGRzwAWSY7acOnGxEwlThg98AIJJW4ErXEebB6NDLhj1UA5FoyWTuUONY/s596/GereDavid.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="596" data-original-width="423" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKmMXm1nAzei1gjE4KvYWNO8-b_xYbp398rKYdvbp98Crd6b_Vf0WO-HdMAi5vNlWAiJ719HNVIc38aUAJiBGRzwAWSY7acOnGxEwlThg98AIJJW4ErXEebB6NDLhj1UA5FoyWTuUONY/s320/GereDavid.PNG" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> We have a surprisingly fitting <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mgS5I2UrW74">movie version of this scene</a>
in the film starring Richard Gere as King David. This no-holds-barred,
full-bodied worship will be cheered by many – perhaps rightly. What’s at stake?
Robert Barron (in his magnificent <i>Brazos</i> commentary) wisely speaks of the importance not just of praise but of “right
praise,” and connects David bringing the ark to Jerusalem with that other ark, Noah’s
big boat: “The entirety of the biblical narrative can be read as the story of
God’s attempts to lure his people back into right praise. When sin resulted in
the destruction of the created order, God sent a rescue operation in the form
of a great ship on which a microcosm of Eden was preserved. Noah can be read as
a priestly figure presiding over a tiny remnant where right praise was
practiced…” </span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indeed, the ark in 2 Samuel 6 housed tablets
of God’s law, the road of Aaron, and pieces of manna – reminders of the Exodus,
and God’s eternal covenant. The larger ark narrative here verges on the comic –
but the plot isn’t merely that Yahweh can beat up other gods. Rather, as Barron
points out, “Human flourishing is a consequence of right praise. The central
battle of Israel’s God is always against idolatry, for everything that is
dysfunctional in the human heart and in society flows finally from that
primordial skewing.”</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwcnfEhSfhB_y-GH7mwESYzDr57qnImeOii6mZHpt22AN5833FP3jGZHZWyVAKbCd4IO4jUSosXywMnlw5EgwcZOyXUPvFgfWRXM2dbScPX5zd9yDaKrFkwxBuCvtJ4dcZ8byA-cQjOg/s1600/Barron2sam.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="397" data-original-width="263" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJwcnfEhSfhB_y-GH7mwESYzDr57qnImeOii6mZHpt22AN5833FP3jGZHZWyVAKbCd4IO4jUSosXywMnlw5EgwcZOyXUPvFgfWRXM2dbScPX5zd9yDaKrFkwxBuCvtJ4dcZ8byA-cQjOg/s320/Barron2sam.jpg" width="211" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> More from Barron: </span>“One can only begin to imagine the texture of her feelings at this point in the narrative. She had witnessed the deaths of her father and brother; her husband had married several other women and fathered children with them while she remained childless…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That she gazes down from a window rather than participating in the celebration indicates that she represents the past. From her height, she regards David with the same haughty disdain that her father once showed to his rival… The prim, downward-looking Michal aptly symbolizes the moral dimension that is legitimately part of religion. She is a sort of ancient Israelite version of Immanuel Kant, for whom religion was entirely a matter of morality… The moralizing Michal might be read as the prophetic side of religion, and the dancing David as the priestly side of religion, which refuses to be constrained by reason alone.”<o:p></o:p></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsRaq4tj-NrVhUgKitc9B8kEEhq-u-wiveTY4mkblJQBbIRP1U2W2d3X8aQlxDk0_L3QyEuQ4Qy3oyZMgzA0LAsFALsz55IaUHGvXIwT4liFAe-NqqXaTZ9OpYRm0ueA8jKD-KAsUg45Q/s1600/Immanuel_Kant_%2528t%2529.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1388" data-original-width="964" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsRaq4tj-NrVhUgKitc9B8kEEhq-u-wiveTY4mkblJQBbIRP1U2W2d3X8aQlxDk0_L3QyEuQ4Qy3oyZMgzA0LAsFALsz55IaUHGvXIwT4liFAe-NqqXaTZ9OpYRm0ueA8jKD-KAsUg45Q/s320/Immanuel_Kant_%2528t%2529.jpg" width="222" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Michal as Immanuel Kant! If you can work that into a sermon, let me know. The encounter between Michal and David is terse, sarcastic, full of recrimination. Let’s not speak of the super-spiritual David. Even his most spiritual moments are tinged with egocentricism and misogyny.</span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw7nU871ekIvosf6W24SA22yoU8-aebsZ0vYMxbDuZm1VOpD9teQIwd-9NoTzm15cygdwEtjr8Mif-UHK8AbdvyCdXFz29RpzPzljMzy9OAeTc73M0ZsU4oj1MPTomVaPwZFK9kvVGpzE/s1161/MaggieRoss.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1161" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw7nU871ekIvosf6W24SA22yoU8-aebsZ0vYMxbDuZm1VOpD9teQIwd-9NoTzm15cygdwEtjr8Mif-UHK8AbdvyCdXFz29RpzPzljMzy9OAeTc73M0ZsU4oj1MPTomVaPwZFK9kvVGpzE/s320/MaggieRoss.jpg" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We might recall Maggie Ross’s thought (in <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Fountain-Furnace-Way-Tears-Fire/dp/162564695X">The Fountain & the Furnace</a></i>, a treasure of spiritual thought!) – that
way too often we prefer the experience of God to God. That is, we look at
someone digging a spiritual song, or swooning over a devotional book, or caught
up in the words of some inspiring speaker, and we conclude This is it! But the
Bible presses us toward “right praise,” an adulation of the true God, not one
we’ve manufactured or prefer or that makes us feel good (or even <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i></b>
such a good feeling!).<o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> <b>Psalm 24</b>, I found during our Psalms series, proved a fruitful preaching text! <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vefKuOvD0hg">Check out this video</a> of how we read it responsively, as the Israelites might have, and my sermon, which spoke a pandemic relevant word of why physically processing into the sanctuary matters - and how other shared walks (Civil Rights protests, the Yellow Brick Road, a wedding) are a witness to and labors for justice.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBnvc99xVhdW4kR1ue0VrGvhGrN59UPqvJ6-w9UUbBIr7Rv8HWVAtTEVJPYjI-2v4yJLU0YQcXcR0qCI1v7S9-c1rL-26wW3XE_nYUo6kOXPeSi5yKymDSqasACmEGdgyccrvm_Lxu2As/s744/CaravaggioJB.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="603" data-original-width="744" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBnvc99xVhdW4kR1ue0VrGvhGrN59UPqvJ6-w9UUbBIr7Rv8HWVAtTEVJPYjI-2v4yJLU0YQcXcR0qCI1v7S9-c1rL-26wW3XE_nYUo6kOXPeSi5yKymDSqasACmEGdgyccrvm_Lxu2As/s320/CaravaggioJB.PNG" width="320" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before exploring our epistle, let’s touch on
the Gospel, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mark 6:14-29</b>. Herod
doesn’t dominate his wife. Violent and powerful as he is, he’s cowed (henpecked?)
by her! And there’s another dance here. Not so ambiguous as David’s, this dance
is utterly unholy, with a gruesome ending to the story. What's the sermon? Stick close to Jesus / Lose your head?<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Ephesians
1:3-14</b>. There is so much theology and wisdom packed into this 202 word
sentence (yes, these 12 verses are one run-on sentence in the Greek) that I
preached not just one but two sermons on it in September (on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L9xzSnbOqFI&t=517s">1:3-6</a>, then <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g19-5BklLI0&t=4s">1:7-14</a>, which
you can check out if they are helpful). </span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Paul’s sentence would be a nightmare
to diagram. You can feel Paul’s enthusiasm for God and for the people he loved
spilling over, as if he just couldn’t stop rambling, unable to stop things with
a period, with yet another <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Oh yes, and
also</i>…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCX3wbmcSM4NKLGd8DD7oTqaTEQ2H2GTn1lu6nV-6zU6e0LDI2x93YMgZ-Zlr-HBE0gF7-pFE_AtRmGmt5Fxqu8Gu0IgaVNwvwEwjroH_BTIQXqOO3x9CBhNE1VmVPpBLxNNOCIqHIN4w/s499/WillOfGod.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="323" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCX3wbmcSM4NKLGd8DD7oTqaTEQ2H2GTn1lu6nV-6zU6e0LDI2x93YMgZ-Zlr-HBE0gF7-pFE_AtRmGmt5Fxqu8Gu0IgaVNwvwEwjroH_BTIQXqOO3x9CBhNE1VmVPpBLxNNOCIqHIN4w/s320/WillOfGod.jpg" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">Some fascinating details: God has “made
known the mystery of his will.” That’s perfect (and the subject of my book, <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Will-God-Answering-Hard-Questions/dp/0664232906">The Will of God</a></i>). God’s will isn’t a hunch you
feel. It’s been made known – and yet it’s still a mystery, not as in puzzling,
you can’t figure it out, but mystery as in beyond the prosaic, something
profound, mystical, beyond what we can reckon and just get done easily.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We read here of “saints.” Our folks <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">think a saint is some superhuman spiritual
hero, or someone who’s a bit prissy, avoiding earthly pleasures, or doing
immense good. But the saint is someone whose thinking and living at least
strives to be different, special, not blending into the mobs out there. Rabbi
Jonathan Sacks says holiness is simply making space and time for God.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQFnA6mQWYhm-hjEL-IkM_RLeOdsc2_mOiPS6V5f6hRHAnfKrS_8yqMYE98Bh-VCOiId0RP3D79gCkHyBGpeZaziCt7jDY3xCdSFxDjrciBslJn1bXvca-g6-beW3roXhPzwi6VGLfM5o/s1648/MaryO.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1098" data-original-width="1648" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQFnA6mQWYhm-hjEL-IkM_RLeOdsc2_mOiPS6V5f6hRHAnfKrS_8yqMYE98Bh-VCOiId0RP3D79gCkHyBGpeZaziCt7jDY3xCdSFxDjrciBslJn1bXvca-g6-beW3roXhPzwi6VGLfM5o/s320/MaryO.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> It’s aspirational. We dream of
being what Paul calls us: holy. Mary Oliver’s words always move me: “Another
morning and I wake with thirst for the goodness I do not have. Oh Lord, grant
me, in your mercy, a little more time. Love for the earth and love for you are
having such a long conversation in my heart.” I love Richard Rohr’s intriguing
suggestion: “We don’t have to make ourselves holy. We already are, and we just
don’t know it.”</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Chosen”? Americans think of choice as limiting - as if you choose which cereal among many in the
store to buy, or the bachelor choosing which bachelorette pleases him.
Ephesians does this over and over: you aren’t on the outside looking in with
God. You don’t have to go find God and get God. You can be confused or even
uninterested. God chose you. God is in you. Preachers should and can boggle
their minds with this: Want to know how amazing you are? God chose you “before
the foundation of the world.” That’s right: when God thought, <i>Let’s make a
universe with galaxies and nebulae!</i> God also thought of you, God decided you
would be you. And for the noblest conceivable purpose: that you would live with
God’s Spirit in you. Go outside tonight. Gaze up into the heavens. Billions of
years ago, when God imagined the vast cosmos, God was already making plans for
you.</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>T</span><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">he preacher can clarify that “spiritual
blessing” isn’t otherworldly or invisible, but what is gifted and driven by the
Spirit – very tangible stuff. Paul says we’re “chosen” – but for what? “To be
holy and blameless.” So much for bland churchgoer piety that prefers a God who
just loves. Period.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZZubQl1T-NVCBPoDGCSancAbhgquRWkVh-ka1rL8GFSrRuiyhjezpiN5DKsghNV0Fw_CvuOZXsHR1IfcfAaPMVIZR75nKgqPjnXnfaINsbsSlnbSbnnAZSKd87yxfL5vFI58K0JKUtqQ/s225/KellyNikondeha.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="225" data-original-width="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZZubQl1T-NVCBPoDGCSancAbhgquRWkVh-ka1rL8GFSrRuiyhjezpiN5DKsghNV0Fw_CvuOZXsHR1IfcfAaPMVIZR75nKgqPjnXnfaINsbsSlnbSbnnAZSKd87yxfL5vFI58K0JKUtqQ/s0/KellyNikondeha.jpg" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">Paul loves the image of adoption. Do check
out Kelly Nikondeha’s marvelous theological reflections on this! Adopted people
often want to find their birth parents. Why? “<span style="color: black; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We want that dark corner
illuminated. We imagine our own transformation at the revelation of our true
origin. What goodness might be unlocked, wh</span></span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">at possibility
unleashed?” Isn’t church a quest to discover our true origin? Nikondeha
offers a picturesque retrospective on what being adopted was about: “A woman
scooped me out of the white-wicker bassinet in the viewing room of the adoption
agency and claimed me as her own. Her physical emptiness prepared the way for
my fullness.”<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Georgia",serif; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Does the birth mother “abandon”
her child? Or is it a “relinquishment”? So different. Abandonment is unfeeling
and cruel. Relinquishment may be the highest form of love – as Jesus, certainly
feeling abandoned by God, relinquished his divine power and his life out of
such love.<o:p></o:p></span></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-10725952240806906792023-12-14T02:50:00.000-08:002024-03-17T10:09:03.657-07:00What can we say March 17? Lent 5<p> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><b>Jeremiah 31:31-34</b> seems preachable to me,
although I’ve never done it. I try to imagine the small scroll scholars believe
chapters 30-31 once were – a small roll indeed, yet full of promise and hope,
and for the very people Jeremiah had been castigating for years! That’s
something – like a long pamphlet of hope. I am fond of Elizabeth Achtemeier’s
wisdom on the need for the law to be written on the heart, for a radically new
and different covenant: “It is obvious from this passage why moralistic
preaching does no good. It does not and it cannot produce any change in
people’s lives, for they have no power in themselves to change. They are like
prisoners – slaves of sin – and exhorting prisoners to be good is like telling
them to fix up their prison cages a little – maybe to hang a picture on the
wall or to put a rug on the floor. But what is needed is someone to come and
open the door!” Whichever text you choose, hold that in the back of your mind!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiT8ZfdhROwELV9V6pPZFUWy-cNqw4cn9716Yerwq_O8j11Q2PumAvYosHP-foMtXIKBCQAIO20HVD7WOGKxWKYo5FX74t5mjsY0PA6ID_iMzOxVlaCqmVo5o4Lkjd2UrJjNFzYjMIC0pUOgDCuSaAuE2eJZvyTLDot6AwQnTUltJW72I92Mt8DmIptLM/s625/StAugustine.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="401" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiT8ZfdhROwELV9V6pPZFUWy-cNqw4cn9716Yerwq_O8j11Q2PumAvYosHP-foMtXIKBCQAIO20HVD7WOGKxWKYo5FX74t5mjsY0PA6ID_iMzOxVlaCqmVo5o4Lkjd2UrJjNFzYjMIC0pUOgDCuSaAuE2eJZvyTLDot6AwQnTUltJW72I92Mt8DmIptLM/s320/StAugustine.PNG" width="205" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Psalm 51:1-12</b>. What a great, famous,
heavily-used and oft-quoted Psalm – and what could be more fitting for the
season of Lent? The seven “Penitential Psalms” in general could draw more
attention during Lent. I love this: when St. Augustine was confined to his
deathbed, his eyesight failing, he asked that the 7 Penitential Psalms be
printed in oversized hand on huge pieces of paper and hung on the walls around
his bed.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> In
seminary you learn that the headings attached to Psalms aren’t original. It
is interesting that whoever pieced the Psalter together to find its way into
our canon saw a fit between Psalm 51 and the sordid, telling tale of David and
Bathsheba – and the temptation is then to launch into a digression and wind up
preaching on 2 Samuel 11-12. A worthy text! </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIs_rze4TVF3OG1_z_P72Ev9DfNgaEPTjcLCm_2Ry3B0U3Mjz-gyrSQAqft_8uekAEViRIHDCrcQUwOlLoFnWCx18SPSNqRWAVcp-ciyBm2PVx2CHVkw5KwUez8qkMp5EZcNcnSiN7h-UQgf04SDRYYHa6Oz_kRdKVgLRWcJruFUc4_adh0FJN9PHhQJM/s532/BalconyDavid.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="468" data-original-width="532" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIs_rze4TVF3OG1_z_P72Ev9DfNgaEPTjcLCm_2Ry3B0U3Mjz-gyrSQAqft_8uekAEViRIHDCrcQUwOlLoFnWCx18SPSNqRWAVcp-ciyBm2PVx2CHVkw5KwUez8qkMp5EZcNcnSiN7h-UQgf04SDRYYHa6Oz_kRdKVgLRWcJruFUc4_adh0FJN9PHhQJM/s320/BalconyDavid.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">On that text, though, I’d urge you
to read Robert Barron’s brilliant, probing insights in his
fabulous Brazos commentary, which I reviewed in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Christian Century</i>; after assessing
David’s balcony view as “a parody of God’s providential presidency over
creation,” and the way David “seizes the prerogatives of divinity, like Adam
did,” he pairs the story to Psalm 51 and shrewdly points out that “David does
not need a program of ethical renewal; he needs to be re-created.”</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> Wow. And we also have Robert Alter’s
clever translation of the Psalm 51 heading, noting the Hebrew wordplay which he
dubs “a barbed pun”: “Upon Nathan the prophet’s coming to him when he had come
to bed with Bathsheba.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Humble,
eloquent, heart-rending contrition: Psalm 51 hardly needs explication. As a
preacher, it would be too easy and simplistic just to default to an old-timey
sermon plot: yes, you sin, and yes, God forgives if you ask. But the Psalm
happily complicates things – and we do too. The Psalm is after, as Barron
mentioned, not a plan of ethical renewal, or a determination to do better, but
a radically new heart, like the one Jeremiah 31 dreamed of – and maybe this is
the sort of thing Jesus had in mind when he said we must be born again.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZAodsNf5Jw9ZhkTf8VB2LosUbYXQTKTZgut64xeCEMlpdwk1ifAFZps5OOjHnkB8fWdNS0rvxqb6xuvCU1PiavLuKohctpaK0bNRtoXvQrgB59oJ2wDfrkGSlMxEWMB1OOuGqMSir9PVOtnTr08L4dWfPzqqMy3zTXUGx4buDPkntQFA3pZqhwSkAqGc/s320/ResponsibleGraceMaddox.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="213" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZAodsNf5Jw9ZhkTf8VB2LosUbYXQTKTZgut64xeCEMlpdwk1ifAFZps5OOjHnkB8fWdNS0rvxqb6xuvCU1PiavLuKohctpaK0bNRtoXvQrgB59oJ2wDfrkGSlMxEWMB1OOuGqMSir9PVOtnTr08L4dWfPzqqMy3zTXUGx4buDPkntQFA3pZqhwSkAqGc/s1600/ResponsibleGraceMaddox.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> This text isn’t after the mere
absolution of guilt. It’s about reconciliation, a healed, renewed relationship
with God that only God can achieve. Randy Maddox helped us see how for John
Wesley, grace isn’t just God letting bygones be bygones; grace has a medicinal,
healing power.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> The
Psalm also highlights the image of being wiped clean – very different from the
accounting of sin being erased. I love this thought: in his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Letters to Malcolm</i>, C.S. Lewis ponders
something John Henry Newman wrote in his “Dream of Gerontius.” A saved soul, at
the very foot of God’s throne, begs to be taken away and cleansed before
continuing in heaven.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> “Our souls demand Purgatory, don’t
they? Would it not break the heart if God said to us, ‘It is true, my son, that
your breath smells and your rags drip with mud, but we are charitable here and
no one will upbraid you with these things. Enter into the joy’? Should we not
reply, ‘With submission, sir, and if there is no objection, I’d rather be
cleaned first.’ ‘It may hurt, you know’ – ‘Even so sir.’”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijrzqt8RisbcpjzhYBoOVf3P7BPhhLxtF9QH-ZqYsbBZS32PvCGedM14ShVvbKnSE8tpchwyTF0NdpJyoKLwwk8X_WXyOiIsCSO31SeSgChEhyphenhyphenlGrIf1KxcrpyKaV9dITKkr9Ayl5-E44LlB3mqv6qntSYhZ5RnumjO7ZeaasQpl8YNjS13LiD6DTW8QM/s1061/MarkTwain.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1061" data-original-width="756" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijrzqt8RisbcpjzhYBoOVf3P7BPhhLxtF9QH-ZqYsbBZS32PvCGedM14ShVvbKnSE8tpchwyTF0NdpJyoKLwwk8X_WXyOiIsCSO31SeSgChEhyphenhyphenlGrIf1KxcrpyKaV9dITKkr9Ayl5-E44LlB3mqv6qntSYhZ5RnumjO7ZeaasQpl8YNjS13LiD6DTW8QM/s320/MarkTwain.jpg" width="228" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">Relevant
preaching will touch on why sin is an elusive topic nowadays. Yes, the Psalm
implies “original sin.” Unsure how much the preacher should delve into
that. I love Mark Twain’s quip, that when we sin, there’s nothing very
original about it! We fall in line – and then his other thought: “I don’t know
why Adam and Eve get so much credit; I could have done just as well as they
did.” Or Whitney Brown’s Saturday Night Live humor: “Any good history book is
mainly just a long list of mistakes, complete with names and dates. It’s very
embarrassing.”</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Our
bigger challenge isn’t persuading anybody of the doctrine of original sin. It’s
getting anyone but the most conservatively-reared, guilt-riddled Christians to
understand sin is a real thing. A generation ago the psychiatrist Karl
Menninger wrote <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Whatever Became of
Sin?</i> – and it’s a better question now than then. But it’s no use
hammering on people (as I’ve tried a few times), saying You don’t think much
about sin, but you really are a sinner! People can’t conceive of sin as an
impudent violation of God’s commands – with which we only have a passing, thin
acquaintance anyhow. And if sin is breaking a rule, then we fail to understand
what revolutionized Martin Luther’s ministry 500 years ago – that sin isn’t
this or that action but our entire nature.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvaFpRnvIuWHpMlFaW6RlLcuqLD8NZyS1rEo1ZQ1EEIpRXNaJwX7L2hx4tkuL5CELQD2Y6QuMwzgFo9V8Zd-eUJqyGUYlQbGUHevqPDTb_ixoAJZuBVrXWkUvj7eGeUUlfe9sZonfn3ypSVGZNvi-Gq_SVNtPfPy1DwIpervM8RXK4F6hV9TrV4R4IfyY/s320/Sisyphus.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="316" data-original-width="320" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvaFpRnvIuWHpMlFaW6RlLcuqLD8NZyS1rEo1ZQ1EEIpRXNaJwX7L2hx4tkuL5CELQD2Y6QuMwzgFo9V8Zd-eUJqyGUYlQbGUHevqPDTb_ixoAJZuBVrXWkUvj7eGeUUlfe9sZonfn3ypSVGZNvi-Gq_SVNtPfPy1DwIpervM8RXK4F6hV9TrV4R4IfyY/s1600/Sisyphus.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">How
do we explore the human condition and then help people realize the trouble they
are in? Douglas John Hall (in his wonderful <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Professing the Faith</i>) rather wonderfully suggested that we don’t
feel so much like Prometheus, defiantly scaling the heights to steal fire from
the gods, but rather we feel like Sisyphus, valiantly pushing that stone
uphill, only to have it roll down again; we are weary, hollow, frustrated
people. We are dogged (and you needn’t persuade anyone) by all kinds of
brokenness. Such as these:</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Sin,
today, is being enmeshed in a culture that is not of God; the “seven deadly
sins” (pride, sloth, greed, lust, gluttony, envy and wrath) are the very
definition of the good life in America we mindlessly pursue and accept!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Sin,
today, is our irrational attachment to and ultimate trust in our political
ideology, which is today’s idolatry. If your god is what you rely on, what can
make your day (or ruin it), what you believe can deliver the fullness of life,
what unites you with some other angry people, then political ideology (and
perhaps especially for those who vehemently insist politics not be spoken of in
church!) is sin.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Sin,
today, may well be our bland niceness, and believe it passes muster as a
Christian life. All of these, and even old-timey garden variety rebellion
against God, mean-spirited sins, indulging in the more sinister aspects of our
culture: all are manifestations of fear, fear of isolation, fear of
pointlessness, fear even of God, fear there may be no God, fear I’m
insufficient somehow, fear of missing out, fear of death.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We do know guilt, shame, worrying about
being found out, hoping to be good enough – and by “we” I mean not just
churchgoing believers but garden variety American people!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDIzWDmQFk9qvUVUGqdGhO_UujeftnT-0_7kkaWGksYsggAj22kiSTGtbrklW2bF6MbrTrVeXtV0yPMOaneCmMfCssLgbYWA2C8S6kC1cLhKjsp4ZKtqPJTTDwu_x4ue3noPTiR6KCTLvwKBgRih2YzGIDUzTUvZQo7vFccX2N6MxYXlAJc-jCort4l38/s300/DavidSteinmetz2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDIzWDmQFk9qvUVUGqdGhO_UujeftnT-0_7kkaWGksYsggAj22kiSTGtbrklW2bF6MbrTrVeXtV0yPMOaneCmMfCssLgbYWA2C8S6kC1cLhKjsp4ZKtqPJTTDwu_x4ue3noPTiR6KCTLvwKBgRih2YzGIDUzTUvZQo7vFccX2N6MxYXlAJc-jCort4l38/s1600/DavidSteinmetz2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">The
Psalm urges us toward what Luther figured out. My witty and brilliant professor
of Church History, David Steinmetz, explained things this way (in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Luther in Context</i>). As a young priest,
Luther encountered the common medieval understanding, which sounds hauntingly
like the common modern church understanding of religious reality: “Although
Christ died for the sins of the world, it is still the responsibility of the
sinner to act on behalf of his own soul by rigorous self-examination, by good
works and self-denial, by prayer and pious exercises. God is willing
to forgive the sinner, but there are conditions which must be met – and which
lie within the power of the sinner to perform.”</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> But then, after a deep reading of Paul,
and thrashing through his own personal struggles and guided well by his mentor
John Staupitz, Luther arrived at a very different, more mature, and
theologically on target view of things: “The problem with human righteousness
is not merely that it is flawed or insufficient (though it is
both). The problem with human righteousness is that it is
irrelevant. God does not ask for human virtue as a precondition for
justification. God asks for human sin.” I love that. God asks for
sin. And we’ve got it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> A
few other details in the Psalm might merit attention. “Cast me not away from
your presence”: the very is more like “Hurl” or “Fling me not away…” And this:
the craving is to be “whiter than snow,” which got erased from “Have thine own
way, Lord,” in the hymnal; but if you rail against this as political
correctness, you are exposed as the very sinner in need of being washed. And
the opening verb, “Create,” renders the Hebrew <i>bara</i>’, which is used rarely
in Scripture, and only with God as its subject – as in Genesis 1!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Our
other texts? <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Hebrews 5:5-10</b> has
always left me puzzled. This “order of Melchizedek” business meant so much to
early Christians, but then for most of us it’s just plain mystifying. How
fascinating is Hebrews 5’s narrative – that Jesus prayed “with loud cries and
tears.” In Gethsemane? On the cross? And “to him who was able to save him from
death, and he was heard for his godly fear.” Really? The Gospels imagine Jesus’
prayer not being heard, or being heard but resolved quite differently. Or is
Hebrews envisioning the resurrection? I think not, but who knows?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> And
then <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">John 12:20-33</b> is a rich text.
In the wake of being anointed, and of Palm Sunday, and then just before the
footwashing, we find this public scene where some Greeks approach Philip (the
one disciple with a Greek name!) and ask “We wish to see Jesus.” I heard a
sermon years ago that used this as a cadence throughout, the whole homily
playing on what it means to wish to see Jesus, how to find him, what we see
when we find him, or are found by him. This is our request, and I suspect this
is even the request of a cynical, unbelieving world – in our Christ-haunted
landscape.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> I
love the way Philip told Andrew, then and Andrew told Jesus. There’s something
hidden in there about the nature of community, but I’m not sure what. Jesus’
“hour to be glorified” is near – and for John, that glorification isn’t on
Easter morning but as he breathes his last on the cross. How startling is the way
this Johannine text picks up on Paul (“unless a grain falls into the earth”)
and the Synoptics (“he who would save his life will lose it,” and the voice
from heaven!): it’s as if this text is an overture, a big musical climax, a
“greatest hits” explicating Jesus. And then (and I recognize it’s past our
reading), what is that in verse 36? “And he hid from them.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-63044444544031230332023-12-14T02:47:00.000-08:002024-03-10T10:53:45.741-07:00What can we say March 10? Lent 4<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF1SemriiDTampm1MTdFt5GwSxsfBhL57UvdBZJ-bLdpF3jAt4_lfBVHnDhCi08wGmuKb0lawTW8A2LZJPPsfPNBxvfBENsrmu7iYhNuiLtlybYUZFUfsoA-p0gjTmvv34OQAEYX0RevGfGrXkddS75nA_YR160ur6Ew9Mf7t9OnyktrisMhevHDdWdT4/s320/snakes.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="299" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF1SemriiDTampm1MTdFt5GwSxsfBhL57UvdBZJ-bLdpF3jAt4_lfBVHnDhCi08wGmuKb0lawTW8A2LZJPPsfPNBxvfBENsrmu7iYhNuiLtlybYUZFUfsoA-p0gjTmvv34OQAEYX0RevGfGrXkddS75nA_YR160ur6Ew9Mf7t9OnyktrisMhevHDdWdT4/s1600/snakes.jpg" width="299" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Numbers
21:4-9</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> pokes its head into one of the most bizarre religious beliefs in
ancient Israel, and then simultaneously provides a surprising, theologically
suggestive and homiletically promising weirdness. Circling around Edom near the
Red Sea, the people murmur – which had to be so old, so trite by now. This
region was infamous for its lethal serpents. Verse 6 uses the adjective seraph,
“to burn” – so were they fiery? Poisonous by extension? What a harsh penalty
for murmuring! – finally, after God and Moses have borne it patiently and even
graciously for years. Think Indiana Jones: “Why did it have to be snakes?” Or
maybe Genesis 3 – not the wily tempter, but the curse, that fallen humanity
will suffer enmity with snakes.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> And
yet these venomous snakes are the healing; it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">did</i> have to be snakes. Think superstition, magic – or
Israelite religion, with such a homeopathic antidote. An object is controlled
by its own image or effigy. To gaze on an uplifted snake, they believed, could
cure ill effects of the snakes on the ground. Lest you think this is a one-off,
a bronze snake stood in the temple until Hezekiah finally smashed it (2 Kings
18:4). Israel shared this with their neighbors: Egyptian religious featured
serpentine amulets, cobras denoted royalty. A bronze bowl engraved with a
winged snake was discovered in Nineveh – booty the Assyrians swiped from
Israel’s King Ahaz! </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA11Xo_vqMCvQaFtHZGdccDSE8jfEXdJfBH46YRAWNh_Fw3tFBW5Iwk0n7hjjkpaObu6DS4tfibMNB7Yz3NVRJL-LepoOCd0xgaGTgtnb7KG_KEif2dz467ywl9v9ft0MLTtNReaAeRptNl_NLoeU-Ay4g2YwS7yzKSlp9DVVvVUm3YwdFbqcJZovfc10/s320/coppersnakesinai.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="191" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA11Xo_vqMCvQaFtHZGdccDSE8jfEXdJfBH46YRAWNh_Fw3tFBW5Iwk0n7hjjkpaObu6DS4tfibMNB7Yz3NVRJL-LepoOCd0xgaGTgtnb7KG_KEif2dz467ywl9v9ft0MLTtNReaAeRptNl_NLoeU-Ay4g2YwS7yzKSlp9DVVvVUm3YwdFbqcJZovfc10/s1600/coppersnakesinai.jpg" width="191" /></a></div> And then archaeologists found copper mines near where
Israel was meandering in Numbers 21 – and a 5 inch long copper snake affixed to
a staff, dating to the time of Moses! (Think modern times also: Asclepius
was symbolized by a snake and still is on that little medical symbol we pay no
attention to.)<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> You
don’t have to tie this to John 3 (although John himself did!) – but it’s
preachable. What is lethal is the way to life; the curse is the way to cure.
Certainly the cross works this way: it’s a sign of horror, the killing of
the Son, and yet it is itself the cure. Similarly, it is only in our dying that
we come to life; it is the killing of our sin on the cross that frees us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> So,
before visiting Ephesians 2, which can also be woven into all this, let’s stick
with <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">John 3:14-21</b>. Nicodemus has made
his famous nocturnal visit to Jesus. His puzzlement over being “born again” is
itself fascinating, and can’t be lopped off from our precise reading for today.
Jesus speaks of a whole new life – and it’s not an emotional experience, this
being born again (evangelical fantasies, and churchgoer confusion and guilt
notwithstanding). It’s God’s work – and our verses explain how God pulled off
regenerating us.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg41cR3kgA-1ateiazEc3ana12Ce5MmNPmCaCz89_rAQIkDrdXfxGuwKHZKRGxPiHMIgcxhRXzgPgxXhL7Z_MdeTVV27S1ZNiDGrKO_Cz4IxLEksu3sQIYdWl-BcnQFkhPAHm8DODJslwW6MDBaHPJXm1D-v7ArVulCLs4_cz5zRdlz9OpvI5MGoJchquQ/s499/VanierDrawnIntoMystery.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="326" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg41cR3kgA-1ateiazEc3ana12Ce5MmNPmCaCz89_rAQIkDrdXfxGuwKHZKRGxPiHMIgcxhRXzgPgxXhL7Z_MdeTVV27S1ZNiDGrKO_Cz4IxLEksu3sQIYdWl-BcnQFkhPAHm8DODJslwW6MDBaHPJXm1D-v7ArVulCLs4_cz5zRdlz9OpvI5MGoJchquQ/s320/VanierDrawnIntoMystery.jpg" width="209" /></a></div> I admire Jean Vanier’s phrasing (despite
John Vanier turning out to be so problematical…), unwittingly linking John to
Numbers: “This journey, our pilgrimage of love, begins and deepens as we hear
God murmur within our hearts: ‘I love you just as you are. I so love you that I
come to heal you and to give you life. Do not be afraid. Open your hearts. It
is all right to be yourself. You do not have to be perfect or clever. You are
loved just as you are. As you become more conscious that you are loved, you
will want to respond to that love with love, and grow in love.’”<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> We
see John 3:16 on billboards, t-shirts, etc.; some terrific music, my favorite
being “God So Loved the World” by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X5Akz6J8Rw0">John Stainer </a>(or this
one by <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_WX9rSY9yXo">Bob Chilcott</a>!)
drives the verse home. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVefmpf8Berce5h4iFWbU4PttG4K3THIjFQiXFYmefi9kVdi0hXA_CAfXtsuJ54ghd_NoXmYH8aUifnYKDNV8W18YMpfRdbH2P5NgnqucdF3rB0pv7wiXHM-7yEttDh4-p4XYURShU32E-MfK8kr8lx4Tp9C-9Pks9Rr8AD7-oIry4iB2Bv755wRYbIic/s712/Billy-graham.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="712" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVefmpf8Berce5h4iFWbU4PttG4K3THIjFQiXFYmefi9kVdi0hXA_CAfXtsuJ54ghd_NoXmYH8aUifnYKDNV8W18YMpfRdbH2P5NgnqucdF3rB0pv7wiXHM-7yEttDh4-p4XYURShU32E-MfK8kr8lx4Tp9C-9Pks9Rr8AD7-oIry4iB2Bv755wRYbIic/s320/Billy-graham.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> The omnipresence is striking, and would have
shocked most Christians through the centuries. John 3:16 was
never the verse until the modern American revival movement – so chalk
it up to Billy Graham I suppose. The verse isn’t a problem, although it
diminishes the breadth of the Bible’s vision for us and creation. Or does it?
If we read it slowly, we see it’s better than we dreamed. It doesn’t say “For
God so loved you, you religious person, that he gave his son – that is, had him
crucified in your place – so that whoever believes in him, that is, whoever
confesses his sin and agrees Jesus saves him, will not perish but go to
heaven.” Instead it says God so loved – the world, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">kosmos</i>, the whole thing! He
gave his son – but he gave him when the Word became flesh, at Christmas, and in
his healing and teaching, and in his crucifixion and resurrection, which for
John is way more about the glorification of God than me getting off for my
sins. Belief, for John, is way more than mental assent or repentance and
feeling forgiven. It’s following, it’s union with the living Christ, it’s being
part of the Body.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLBjSByT2lpjpkt01J7GVrR1CZXD98sEOsjKP8qSGjU7eA32XRMYLmJ_EU1nBymXLmcrMpp_78VazXv-H8hPw7m6FHOyuJSv0WGQ7VJ3fz56z2WDBNpPcLjAclO7ZesqvEV9J3rwZUdT1xXKiBK8FrQT1w2K2zj28RpcRYzn5txu4JIgnYwGozMIABSNs/s320/catacomb.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="225" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLBjSByT2lpjpkt01J7GVrR1CZXD98sEOsjKP8qSGjU7eA32XRMYLmJ_EU1nBymXLmcrMpp_78VazXv-H8hPw7m6FHOyuJSv0WGQ7VJ3fz56z2WDBNpPcLjAclO7ZesqvEV9J3rwZUdT1xXKiBK8FrQT1w2K2zj28RpcRYzn5txu4JIgnYwGozMIABSNs/s1600/catacomb.jpg" width="225" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">I’d
say whether you preach on John or Ephesians, these two texts illuminate one
another in lovely ways. <b>Ephesians 2:1-10</b>: the pivotal verse is 5, not 8 (which
is cited so often). Paul (let’s give it to Paul and not confuse church people
about authorship) begins by pronouncing us dead – as sensible, as we’re reading
his words and hence very much alive, as Jesus’ counsel to Nicodemus to be born
again. The word translated “dead” is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">nekros</i>;
I’ve gotten to walk around a few necropolises from Bible times. Eerie –
including the catacombs where Christians worshipped.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWYhaN4r9rHhk3IaSnkyjpsVVun03JWAL2JU3RsLgZJHYVV5g0Z5II3UxSx8gwQRcQLIlaF-IvRq0tBmK-5GzjkGznbRQsuFQw9dJV-7PVD9wlavD1Cr5m5eHnWCoao4ES1zIJqLGR7E0ltNG_0nZHttSJprDjzf-YwQ1J6mVu137BmMZZ7jLF7NL8VEk/s320/Moviegoer.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWYhaN4r9rHhk3IaSnkyjpsVVun03JWAL2JU3RsLgZJHYVV5g0Z5II3UxSx8gwQRcQLIlaF-IvRq0tBmK-5GzjkGznbRQsuFQw9dJV-7PVD9wlavD1Cr5m5eHnWCoao4ES1zIJqLGR7E0ltNG_0nZHttSJprDjzf-YwQ1J6mVu137BmMZZ7jLF7NL8VEk/s1600/Moviegoer.jpg" width="203" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">Sermons
have to explain how we’re dead while we have a pulse; Walker Percy might help.
His parents died while he was very young, and he barely survived tuberculosis.
Deeply influenced by Kierkegaard (who had written wisely of our “sickness unto
death”), Percy creates characters like Dr. Tom More (in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Moviegoer</i>), who lives in Paradise
Estates, but really it’s a living Hell. People “have it all” but they are
hollow and miserable. Even the meek priest confesses, “I am surrounded by the
corpses of souls. We live in a city of the dead.”</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> His
later novels, especially <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Thanatos
Syndrome</i> and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Love in the
Ruins</i>, play on these same themes. I’m struck again by the moment when More
refused to take Samantha to Lourdes – because he was afraid she would be
healed! Our worst fear is not that God is dead but that God is alive, and it
won’t do just to drink and soak up pleasure. Again, in Numbers and John, it
only in the confrontation with death, it is only by dying, that life unfolds,
especially this miraculous life in Christ.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Some
preachers might resort to the <i>Walking Dead</i> as an image, but that’s just too
creepy even for me... although R.C. Sproul, in his tiny book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What Does it Mean to Be Born Again?</i>,
does say that before being reborn, "We were spiritual zombies - the walking
dead. We were biologically alive but spiritually dead."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Clearly,
Ephesians 2 exposes how our plight is our whole person, not this or that
misdeed. It’s my mind, my flesh, my thoughts, actions and cravings. And yet God
is merciful. No, God is rich in mercy (the Greek is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">polyeleos</i>, very merciful,
manifoldly merciful!). Paul’s hyperbolic language should be noted by the
preacher – as if words fail Paul (and hence the preacher). It’s not just grace,
of the wealth or grace, but the surpassing wealth of grace!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> And
then a close reading of v. 8 is instructive. Notice the Greek word order. Grace
comes early – to emphasize its centrality. “Gift of God” is really “God’s
gift,” God coming first, unusually in the Greek, to fix our attention on whose
grace this is. Notice there is an article (the, that) before grace. So it’s not
“For by grace you are saved” but “For by that grace you are saved” – that is,
the grace celebrated in verses 5 and 7. Faith is not a work, it is not a
clever, even spiritual decision. Faith is God’s work; faith is all gift. “End
of faith as its beginning,” Charles Wesley shrewdly wrote. Faith, St. Augustine
helped us to see, isn’t the human contribution to salvation. Otherwise you get
spiritual cockiness, no matter how grinningly spiritual. Markus Barth wrote,
“The bragger is man in revolt against God, and a tyrant over his fellow man.
But he who boasts of God and accepts his own weakness gives God the glory he is
due.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Of
course, it’s salutary that the lectionary didn’t clip things off after v. 8.
Verses 9-10 debunk any overly simplistic notion of “We’re saved by grace not
works” – as Paul then, as if to keep us off balance (or twisting in the wind!)
explains that we are “created for good works.” Maybe it’s all in how we
construe who we are, whose we are, what defines us, and what our doing emanates
from.<o:p></o:p></span></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-49567403108938518262023-12-13T02:49:00.000-08:002024-03-03T15:15:12.548-08:00What can we say March 3? Lent 3<p> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Exodus
20:1-17</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">. I love simply reading these to those who know them – but realize
they don’t, really. Preaching on the 10 Commandments is a privilege, a delight,
and a weird challenge, given the politicization of them in our culture. I love
the pairing with </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Psalm 19</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">, which
reminds us of the beauty and value of God’s law, correcting our foolish lunge
toward ideas that the Law as oppressive, or as been tossed in the waste bin by
Jesus – especially during Lent! I think of the fabulous moment in Zora Neale
Hurston’s </span><i style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Moses</i><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1PY6osQ29BvJMhkn8_ekmC0i7n6sA18w3Zo1mg-ga07FQaE86F8wHQQ6LoWBH1CRllgPjBl1jUvhwCxS7ugc3ksfRi0ltZ2pPfR9HH-zm3ki4O12Yaf17ZgAal7taxHrWXhQvl-Vp8aq6DHWSKfe4B55iGDacEnnPdGWtKokabm3ccSNxfGZO-SN2nOY/s1200/ZoraNH.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1PY6osQ29BvJMhkn8_ekmC0i7n6sA18w3Zo1mg-ga07FQaE86F8wHQQ6LoWBH1CRllgPjBl1jUvhwCxS7ugc3ksfRi0ltZ2pPfR9HH-zm3ki4O12Yaf17ZgAal7taxHrWXhQvl-Vp8aq6DHWSKfe4B55iGDacEnnPdGWtKokabm3ccSNxfGZO-SN2nOY/s320/ZoraNH.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">“Moses lifted the freshly chiseled tablets of stone in his hands and
gazed down the mountain to where Israel waited. He knew a great exultation. Now
men could be free. They had something of the essence of divinity expressed.
They had the chart and compass of behavior. They need not stumble into blind
ways and injure themselves. This was bigger than Israel. It comprehended the
world. Israel could be a heaven for all men forever, by these sacred
stones. With flakes of light still clinging to his face, Moses turned to where
Joshua waited for him. “Joshua, I have laws! Israel is going to know peace and
justice.”</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSpcz6sMkqR20gOablg19Ct08KL_rOi0oQtJhptsfXEoHSL-J7h7M5kpqkFyd2NOFxd3vixv4ixaqJSLl9nkvsJQoaYLFJrBpQFntws-H7CtFNcHr4lpVrin2_R-lwKhFnrVdakiZZ_A_cCFYwlxfsP2UMvAy1X1xqXRqcD2HMNWg3sU67wS9SNQmsy84/s645/Martin_Luther_by_Cranach-restoration.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="645" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSpcz6sMkqR20gOablg19Ct08KL_rOi0oQtJhptsfXEoHSL-J7h7M5kpqkFyd2NOFxd3vixv4ixaqJSLl9nkvsJQoaYLFJrBpQFntws-H7CtFNcHr4lpVrin2_R-lwKhFnrVdakiZZ_A_cCFYwlxfsP2UMvAy1X1xqXRqcD2HMNWg3sU67wS9SNQmsy84/s320/Martin_Luther_by_Cranach-restoration.jpg" width="298" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> Martin Luther noticed grace and a
promise in each commandment. What better sermon could you preach that to
narrate the way God in mercy relieves us of our burdens by declaring “You don’t
have to covet.” These aren’t chiseled rules to be used in judging others or
keeping our nation in good order. God has just delivered Israel from bondage –
and now God explains what will be required in order to stay free. There is such
a thing as holiness, as a deep desire to fulfill God’s will. Brevard Childs:
"The intent of the commandments is to engender love of God and love of
neighbor.”</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> The
preacher could pick one command and zero in – or you could do what I plan to
do, just a quick, breezy touching on each one with an explanatory note or
two. No other gods? Luther clarified that our god is whatever
motivates us, changes your mood, embodies the good life… so who is your
God? No images of God? We are made in God’s image, and Jesus is the
flawless image of God – so other creature-like images (the Egyptian or the Wall
Street golden bull, you name it…) mislead. Remember the Sabbath? Can
we switch off our gadgets and actually rest?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Don’t
kill? Jesus went deep, explaining that anger is an interior kind of murder (and
in our rancorous culture, where anger management is a big thing, aren’t we
rabid killers?). No adultery (in a culture where sex as impulse, pleasure and
self-fulfillment is all over the media)? Jesus said if you harbor lust in
your heart, you are an adulterer. No condemnation there; just as in that
moment in John’s Gospel, Jesus encounters an adulterer in order to set her
free. No coveting? Coveting is the engine of capitalism! But God
would liberate us from the stranglehold of always wanting more – or really,
wanting what is new and different. I don’t want more iPhones. I want
the latest iPhone…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDcpoac68939bbC-6S6kHoNbFkUUeSWxxqqSDlqxqDKTM1q7Zg30r47XVSrjch1MZ0vm1YdgRXcvsnJPXIATS6z-pGI4XPuewV-G8OFxVDjmt9J4T_RJXxxN7nWMqgg9oCyttugEg8K3NayYmGS1KJMBCm2ybN4gN4ezKAFlLCVxS40BRFHq2u67jnqk/s500/NTWright.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuDcpoac68939bbC-6S6kHoNbFkUUeSWxxqqSDlqxqDKTM1q7Zg30r47XVSrjch1MZ0vm1YdgRXcvsnJPXIATS6z-pGI4XPuewV-G8OFxVDjmt9J4T_RJXxxN7nWMqgg9oCyttugEg8K3NayYmGS1KJMBCm2ybN4gN4ezKAFlLCVxS40BRFHq2u67jnqk/s320/NTWright.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">1
Corinthians 1:18-25</b> focuses us squarely within the movement that is the
season of Lent. As a preacher, I worry that when I preach on “the Word of the
Cross is folly,” it will turn out that my words about the Cross will be
folly. The gravest risk for preachers who’ve grown up in our thin, vaguely
revivalistic environment, is that we will minimize, individualize, trivialize
and thus confuse and empty the Cross of its richer meaning. N.T. Wright: “When
Jesus of Nazareth died on the cross, something happened as a result of which
the world is a different place… The death of Jesus was the moment
when the great gate of human history, bolted with iron bars and overgrown with
toxic weeds, burst open so that the Creator’s project of reconciliation between
heaven and earth could at last be set in powerful motion… Christian mission
means implementing the victory that Jesus won on the cross.” </span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOWqtHMjHy-kVpWg4DQWMa4JWk0RO24qg8tQcZ3RfT-FZC4QxTh4aHS8yQI1KrA_8QRQ46sWlV075YbyFyVLbzPCylUYmMQcdmF1_J-hQZpPQSekhNoyMUEyHQb7YgtTS27qdoyZZA9Hmuvao-FxP5rWPvjcE5Mc9DiKgfmkuGr61Cv2kahE3R6Lf3638/s450/alexamenos.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="394" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOWqtHMjHy-kVpWg4DQWMa4JWk0RO24qg8tQcZ3RfT-FZC4QxTh4aHS8yQI1KrA_8QRQ46sWlV075YbyFyVLbzPCylUYmMQcdmF1_J-hQZpPQSekhNoyMUEyHQb7YgtTS27qdoyZZA9Hmuvao-FxP5rWPvjcE5Mc9DiKgfmkuGr61Cv2kahE3R6Lf3638/s320/alexamenos.jpg" width="280" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> We
have pretty crosses adorning our churches, not to mention jewelry, posters,
clothing… The cross in the first centuries was horrific, from which you would
avert your gaze. Consider the first instance of a cross – in that laughable
graffiti found near the Palatine Hill in Rome – depicting a man bowing down
before a crucified figure with a donkey’s head, with the inscription,
“Alexamenos worships his God,” clearly ridiculing a late second century convert
to Christianity.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIKjqqYPHYog8rDSRiJaj7mLDtNbSgY1H0Q9ECS2hlZtnve8wj4EASeQR25o877wv3k1BmLyqnU6gMQxvgkg5EJ_9j4kWfAmoBTXRg94rmk8lws3EyveUvZZabkklmJaJHCYf2_tfrCKHcOeGt2KNYR9UYxcmEymk9fACw1LtBEYYMkQXuNk1F4YlHPPY/s320/BodiniCrucifixion.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="236" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIKjqqYPHYog8rDSRiJaj7mLDtNbSgY1H0Q9ECS2hlZtnve8wj4EASeQR25o877wv3k1BmLyqnU6gMQxvgkg5EJ_9j4kWfAmoBTXRg94rmk8lws3EyveUvZZabkklmJaJHCYf2_tfrCKHcOeGt2KNYR9UYxcmEymk9fACw1LtBEYYMkQXuNk1F4YlHPPY/s1600/BodiniCrucifixion.jpg" width="236" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">We
speak of “apologetics,” the intellectual defense of the faith. Paul
surrenders before beginning, making zero apologies for the absurd, unexpected
and not prophesied idea that the Messiah would not crush his foes but be crushed
by them; the Scriptures themselves indicated that being killed on a tree was an
offense. How can the preacher resuscitate the disgust, the offense,
except just to name it? Or maybe we show horrific images,
maybe von Grünewald's Christ, pierced hundreds of times, or maybe that
startling bronze crucifixion by Floriano Bodini… This is God? Looks
entirely God-forsaken – which was God’s point. As Rick Lischer put it in his
memoir about his son's death (<i>Stations of the Heart</i>), when battling the cancer,
they looked into a church and saw a crucifix - prompting them to know this was
the place for them, for such a church, and such a God, "is not freaked out
by death."<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM6sU-lpvEeq5Edlr_m7gNBHPwG7IU56fTQL81NooGU21BnheCifQtA_06EAsVtzWBqaCa0P5w-SZcFwzbI3CNO__YEoy1pKECAOPbWPoqCMBUQlSE2jvPGGR5IeqbpvBTZk5HeLK2DJsAp6guczxKjeUmsBCRrgjUMLwm89DFb-yhCAOvqvsKbsaK3F4/s499/KnowlesPreachNotOurselves.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM6sU-lpvEeq5Edlr_m7gNBHPwG7IU56fTQL81NooGU21BnheCifQtA_06EAsVtzWBqaCa0P5w-SZcFwzbI3CNO__YEoy1pKECAOPbWPoqCMBUQlSE2jvPGGR5IeqbpvBTZk5HeLK2DJsAp6guczxKjeUmsBCRrgjUMLwm89DFb-yhCAOvqvsKbsaK3F4/s320/KnowlesPreachNotOurselves.jpg" width="214" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> Before turning to the Gospel, I think it is worth passing along a word of
encouragement to preachers (so not for your sermon, but for you who preach!)
from Michael Knowles, and reminds me that we preachers need encouragement more
than we need material: “The vast majority of preachers throughout the entire
history of the Christian church have conducted their ministries in either
relative or absolute obscurity. And they, by virtue of such
obscurity, best exemplify cruciform preaching as Paul intends
it. Wherever preachers stand before their congregations conscious of
the folly of the Christian message, the weakness of their efforts, and the apparent
impossibility of the entire exercise… there, Paul’s homiletic of cross and
resurrection is at work. The one resource that genuinely faithful
preachers of the gospel have in abundance is a parade of daily reminders as to
their own inadequacy, unworthiness and – dare we admit it? – lack of
faithfulness. Yet these are the preconditions for grace, the
foundations for preaching that relies on God ‘who raises the dead.’”</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">John 2:13-22</b> poses an odd
chronological challenge. The Synoptics locate the cleansing of the temple early
in Holy Week, while John sticks it in when Jesus is just getting started,
shortly after attending a wedding with his mother. Jesus waltzed
right into the temple, and in a rage that startled onlookers, drove the
moneychangers out of the temple. Was he issuing a dramatic memo against
Church fundraisers? Hardly. Like the wine at Cana, this was a
sign. He was acting out, symbolically, God's judgment on the temple. The
well-heeled priests, Annas and Caiaphas, had sold out to the Romans. Herod had
expanded the temple into one of the wonders of the world - but he pledged his
allegiance to Rome by placing a large golden eagle, symbol of Roman power, over
its gate.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQa_EGfdiURci90qUbJfBLudbLZvyf6NTeH5wYWqEfoi-R8P5SwyJlAiTFxpTrC91dVMaRTRSCBR48NEJ0t8SXklRzCUR3ch9_t7-dJBBnEjHRU4mrLF2QS9gokViC6pVLFWnlYBaEgxHlaaPMyqr2nlwkcScwF7Q5G2AiuVzx5o6x8osWYWY4NSQHtk/s1200/HerodianStones.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMQa_EGfdiURci90qUbJfBLudbLZvyf6NTeH5wYWqEfoi-R8P5SwyJlAiTFxpTrC91dVMaRTRSCBR48NEJ0t8SXklRzCUR3ch9_t7-dJBBnEjHRU4mrLF2QS9gokViC6pVLFWnlYBaEgxHlaaPMyqr2nlwkcScwF7Q5G2AiuVzx5o6x8osWYWY4NSQHtk/s320/HerodianStones.jpg" width="240" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">The
people were no better: a superficial religiosity masqueraded as the real
thing. Within a generation of Jesus’ ministry, that seemingly
indestructible temple was nothing but rubble. Tell your listeners about
the massive Herodian stones in this wonder of the ancient world. Help them
imagine the sights, sounds and smells of the moment. I once set up a bunch
of little tables with coins on them and proceeded to turn them over as my
sermon began. I’m not sure anybody heard anything after that, but you
never know…..</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> If we
ask, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Why did Jesus die? </i>many
might answer, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">For our sins</i>. But
then ask, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Why did they kill him?</i> Look
no further than this moment: Jesus shut down operations in the temple and
forecast its destruction. No wonder the authorities wanted to kill Jesus!
In a way, Jesus would himself become a kind of substitute temple. The
temple was the place, the focal point of humanity's access to God. Jesus,
like the temple itself, was destroyed, killed - and his death, and then his
resurrection on Easter Sunday, became our access to God. And Fred Craddock has
helped us discern the connection to the wedding at Cana. Both are on
the “third day,” both are polemic against religion centered on
ceremony. But the difference: “In Galilee is the wedding; in Judea
is the funeral.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-31962854908155103802023-12-12T05:00:00.000-08:002024-02-25T10:08:47.878-08:00What can we say February 25? Lent 2<p> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Genesis
17:1-7, 15-16</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">. I wonder if we Christians overthink God’s grace, and don’t
bother even trying for “blamelessness,” seeming impossible anyhow. I’m pretty
sure God meant “Be blameless.” No surprise then that Abraham “fell on his
face,” reminding us of the disciples at the Transfiguration (which weirdly is
an alternate Gospel text for this day – but we were just there 2 weeks ago!).
Our nobility, our true greatness, is that God bothers to ask for and even
expect us to be blameless – or maybe as Wesley put it, “going on to perfection.”
The old preacher joke is “If you’re not going on to perfection, where exactly
are you going?”</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Abraham is 99… pretty old. Yet still looking
for new promise fulfillment, still hearing loving and firm demands from God. What
is God asking of the elderly in our churches? And of ourselves as we age –
hopefully living into the “as we grow in age, we grow in grace, and in the
knowledge of Christ.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgGH82lR-HVN3YntYgYsO7kZgiB4kLCO_wuTA35j07B4a1M1Sokv23itSe3EE_EAf90zwgcWcfoF9B0R0UEZnAGQPB7YTz9F3R6PuURdDubEN8-IZD5KlZEp5O_-GCCrl2ROJS_JD2LogT8qrysGqADGp6vsKQWtPGj_NMRU6Lh5WbTBM6GJb8bJ703ww/s673/JonathanSacks_Emeritus-Chief-Rabbi.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="561" data-original-width="673" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgGH82lR-HVN3YntYgYsO7kZgiB4kLCO_wuTA35j07B4a1M1Sokv23itSe3EE_EAf90zwgcWcfoF9B0R0UEZnAGQPB7YTz9F3R6PuURdDubEN8-IZD5KlZEp5O_-GCCrl2ROJS_JD2LogT8qrysGqADGp6vsKQWtPGj_NMRU6Lh5WbTBM6GJb8bJ703ww/s320/JonathanSacks_Emeritus-Chief-Rabbi.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> On this text, Jonathan Sacks provides an
eloquent summation: “Faith is the ability to live with delay without losing
trust in the promise; to experience disappointment without losing hope, to know
that the road between the real and the ideal is long and yet be willing to
undertake the journey. That was Abraham’s and Sarah’s faith.”<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Romans
4:13-25</b> is Paul preaching a sermon on our Genesis text! Paul reiterates my
age observation: at age 99, “Abraham grew strong in his faith.” Grew.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Paul veers toward supersessionism, of
course. Sometimes, to insure I’m not tumbling into unwitting anti-Semitism
(which A.J. Levine is the master of warning us against), I’ll phone a rabbi
friend, tell her/him what I’m thinking, and see what reaction I get.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJxXHnmfNtskynjSQ08gmxDWk_tVUcWdHPdAJTTmN-rxOVaQCSoBph-S92itPeWaOLiVPfG5oeTfahGj5iUrTnxdJngTlHVUsFMKdLy88sj99GQbF0CQbmsf1OS37P7EsuyaFxHhLPnq0JdqehGdDCat4F9mz44FvTFHTXhC7vZbE-nUVqd_H9uWT5hw/s320/CranfieldRomansICC.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="198" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJxXHnmfNtskynjSQ08gmxDWk_tVUcWdHPdAJTTmN-rxOVaQCSoBph-S92itPeWaOLiVPfG5oeTfahGj5iUrTnxdJngTlHVUsFMKdLy88sj99GQbF0CQbmsf1OS37P7EsuyaFxHhLPnq0JdqehGdDCat4F9mz44FvTFHTXhC7vZbE-nUVqd_H9uWT5hw/s1600/CranfieldRomansICC.jpg" width="198" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">“Hoping against hope”: oh my, this origami
of contradictory notions! C.E.B. Cranfield gets to the heart of things:
“Abraham believed God at a time when it was no longer a human possibility for
him to go on hoping. Human hope’s utmost limit had already been reached and
passed.” And in a somewhat obscure hymn, Charles Wesley expressed something
similar: “In hope, against all human hope, Self-desperate, I believe… Faith,
mighty faith, the promise sees, and looks to that alone; laughs at
impossibilities, and cries: It shall be done!”</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> I
wonder if there’s a sermon in “He did not weaken in faith when he considered
his own body” (verse 19). What does the culture say to us about our bodies?
Some sleek, fit, curvy ideal? Too fat? Too skinny? Too feeble? Fatigued? Ill?
Paul presents us with a counter-cultural, hopeful vision of the body as “the
temple of the Holy Spirit” (1 Cor. 6:19). The preacher can invite people to
look down, like right now, at their bodies. Not much? How fantastic: when you
consider your own body, your faith can and should be strengthened!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFabvYxJ4kgaXgYjIbZ1nvYJI3_2sA_JPU9Q7fx-MXs9Oj3ya2TdjGoCRkHkLw6UW8omIjAcue1IqA7wP8fjz8xnHplunqm5vmXQxoPq1BuqydoTOvtL9-AvBtx3aJ5skMLG1676LFuQfiiG2VY7-taDXHDofHyR6BnihFBwTJxgbgubWQPZOAFEaWilk/s320/RachelHollis.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="232" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFabvYxJ4kgaXgYjIbZ1nvYJI3_2sA_JPU9Q7fx-MXs9Oj3ya2TdjGoCRkHkLw6UW8omIjAcue1IqA7wP8fjz8xnHplunqm5vmXQxoPq1BuqydoTOvtL9-AvBtx3aJ5skMLG1676LFuQfiiG2VY7-taDXHDofHyR6BnihFBwTJxgbgubWQPZOAFEaWilk/s1600/RachelHollis.jpg" width="232" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">If
your setting allows it, you could reflect on what our society has done to black
bodies. Or to women’s bodies. Secular culture might blaze the path for us.
Rachel Hollis, TV personality and author of <i>Girl, Wash Your Face</i>, posted an
Instagram photo of herself that went viral – with this caption: “I have stretch
marks and I wear a bikini because I’m proud of this body and every mark on it…
They aren’t scars, ladies, they’re stripes and you’ve earned them.” Our Gospel
story ultimately is about a broken, wounded, scarred body, as we see in our
Gospel.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_WG5mt3C00bzpB5jqUNa8NHQ1AqDG2Bt2POiE4bT1isUECUZKKEf3PCXq14LrWrFiEiR3_GmNu3bPmnjrBgJ8cu_BEiLLBo-LJqlpubXIpBgQFN3RWEgWF0eycIkINRUU0SdD6lSvJr78n36Bmlc9-BbcvOFeDDHCvGunAS6vE6DPqUvj1iobYdZaAs/s550/CaesareaPhilippi.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="358" data-original-width="550" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_WG5mt3C00bzpB5jqUNa8NHQ1AqDG2Bt2POiE4bT1isUECUZKKEf3PCXq14LrWrFiEiR3_GmNu3bPmnjrBgJ8cu_BEiLLBo-LJqlpubXIpBgQFN3RWEgWF0eycIkINRUU0SdD6lSvJr78n36Bmlc9-BbcvOFeDDHCvGunAS6vE6DPqUvj1iobYdZaAs/s320/CaesareaPhilippi.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"><b>Mark
8:31-38</b>, the very heart of the story of Jesus, the axis on which the plot
turns, this dramatic moment at Caesarea Philippi, far to the north, on the
border, amidst a warren of temples honoring the fake god, Caesar. It is here
that Jesus turns his face to Jerusalem. He’s been a powerful, impressive
character, striding across the stage of history up to this point. From now on,
he is passive, acted upon, handed over, walking meekly into the teeth of danger
to be acted upon. </span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>W.H. Vanstone, in his lovely book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Stature of Waiting</i>, suggests that
this matches the plot of our lives. We work, we are productive, but then we
increasingly are acted upon, handed over to nursing homes or family or the
seeming bondage of feeble older age. Jesus’ glory comes in the 2nd half of
his story, and therefore he renders our seemingly bad years as our glory. And,
we realize Jesus' mission wasn't to impress, heal everybody, and attract a big
zealous following with divine razzle-dazzle. He came to save, to love, to lay
down his life, to suffer for and with us and redeem us and all creation.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Chris Green ponders and unwinds the sentence "Peter tries to take Jesus apart." Do it slowly... "I suspect it was earnest and sympathetic, born not of conceit but of misguided compassion. Perhaps, deep down in his bones, Peter sensed something of the weight of Gethsemane and Golgotha, and knew, in a flash, that it would crush them all. Perhaps he saw the shadow of the darkness of that mystery pass over Jesus' face and could not help but try to save his friend."</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> No
passive spectators allowed here. From the sidelines, we’ll just admire Jesus
for suffering “in our place”? Jesus says “Take up your cross and follow me.”
Not watch, but make the walk to death row and suffering with me. This “taking
up your cross” might sound like bearing your burdens, but that’s not it at all.
In the Roman world, if you picked up your cross, you were on death row, you
were walking that “green mile” toward your execution.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNriDRY1nbcC81K88S40NMLPb9OiPXEXxiNvK-FON7ScSQ16MlH9j0US8OnWmQIrqMlqioZxU753KrOt7r2thsdWh-cdQ5PejUg_NjEjcWRM54frsk-JyI3lOFSXsEeKZq98kbXG488RxmrfQT9PYzQWCMT-8EamQa2a_kjkhG3-7rUxIxv37zpxhFSZw/s346/Solzhenitsyn.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="232" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNriDRY1nbcC81K88S40NMLPb9OiPXEXxiNvK-FON7ScSQ16MlH9j0US8OnWmQIrqMlqioZxU753KrOt7r2thsdWh-cdQ5PejUg_NjEjcWRM54frsk-JyI3lOFSXsEeKZq98kbXG488RxmrfQT9PYzQWCMT-8EamQa2a_kjkhG3-7rUxIxv37zpxhFSZw/s320/Solzhenitsyn.jpg" width="215" /></a></div> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">Joel
Marcus, in his commentary on Mark, wisely refers us to Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s
thoughts on the gulag: “From the moment you go to prison you must put your cozy
past firmly behind you. At the very threshold, you must say to yourself. ‘My
life is over, a little early to be sure, but there's nothing to be done about
it. I shall never return to freedom. . . I no longer have any property
whatsoever. . . Only my spirit and my conscience remain precious and important
to me.’ Confronted by such a prisoner, the
interrogation will tremble. Only the man who has renounced everything
can win that victory.”</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> The
logic of the Gospel is illogical to the world, always paradox. Deny yourself to
find yourself. Lose your life to save it. Clearly Jesus is utterly uninterested
in our niceness, our goodness, our political ideologies or our smug judgments
of others. We put our cozy life behind. My property isn’t mine. It’s not what I
want to do, and not even what I want to do for God, but what God wants me to
do. The preacher errs by saying It might be costly. No, it will be costly –
because we follow in a world that is terribly out of sync with Jesus, a culture
that does not love the Lord Jesus. The preacher urges this with a soft,
plaintive voice and maybe even some tears, never wagging a finger or stridently
insisting. We dream that they might actually follow, at least with a few baby
steps, to discover that the only thing that is more grievous than the cost of
discipleship is the cost of non-discipleship.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> I've preached over time that when Jesus says "Get behind me," that's exactly what a disciple is to do: follow - from behind. I like Green's thought: "Jesus" (by turning away) "moves so that Peter cannot fail to be where he should be! By turning away, Jesus not only prefigures the turn; he actually accomplishes it. And this is always the way of God's wrath. In spite of appearances, the divine judgment is always, always, always, at its heart, only ever mercy. Yes, God turns his back on us. But never to put us in our place. Only ever to help us find it." Boom.</span></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-22265501183539391562023-12-12T02:53:00.000-08:002024-02-18T08:50:06.953-08:00What can we say February 18? Lent 1<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4eCiDgO-nxCs59puOlYEkzvL2B26MXyCEI1hIxIvoKh8UqH5oYouJo5nLtI0JBs6SC5baOEv7hWcoS5mAvL8JI1_yWgmiEOm_LE1UXHuVz5VpixgYkPPHvE9HJw_d8ato8gF_jBmQqOKu84_Q0jljx7WPKasLxazgcwfG29oyOhJpw0Lm-Incw2JlyV8/s320/RainbowStole.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="236" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4eCiDgO-nxCs59puOlYEkzvL2B26MXyCEI1hIxIvoKh8UqH5oYouJo5nLtI0JBs6SC5baOEv7hWcoS5mAvL8JI1_yWgmiEOm_LE1UXHuVz5VpixgYkPPHvE9HJw_d8ato8gF_jBmQqOKu84_Q0jljx7WPKasLxazgcwfG29oyOhJpw0Lm-Incw2JlyV8/s1600/RainbowStole.jpg" width="236" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">Genesis
9:8-17</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;">. You see a rainbow? Pull out your phone and post a photo to
Facebook, quick! And then we have rainbows on flags, signs, bumper stickers and
stoles now. We are to remember it’s a covenant, a two-way thing, an unbreakable
deal with commitments on both sides – and the bow might just fire back at you.</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0bpEAGCf5MRiM3fL1ftokIpHLj60KHKqKGbFY-tBPeNeTvw-3AnY9k1JdttPZLoBdZ8-kma7j1qcZ7EKYHml5PEzH_O5_qZITyQXygJjYFeCrK2zWDSnhK0HSH9SDp2bMR2IazR83WRZ-jVPO1HQzIq-WXC2tm6W2My7VzoGLoAKnO1sXQpK8v8w1hMg/s673/JonathanSacks_Emeritus-Chief-Rabbi.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="561" data-original-width="673" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0bpEAGCf5MRiM3fL1ftokIpHLj60KHKqKGbFY-tBPeNeTvw-3AnY9k1JdttPZLoBdZ8-kma7j1qcZ7EKYHml5PEzH_O5_qZITyQXygJjYFeCrK2zWDSnhK0HSH9SDp2bMR2IazR83WRZ-jVPO1HQzIq-WXC2tm6W2My7VzoGLoAKnO1sXQpK8v8w1hMg/s320/JonathanSacks_Emeritus-Chief-Rabbi.jpg" width="320" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">Jonathan Sacks forever altered my view of
Noah when he wrote that medieval rabbis called Noah “the man in the fur coat.”
If you wear a fur coat, you keep yourself warm; if you build a fire, you keep
yourself and others warm.” Noah was righteous, but it was only for himself. The
worst leader ever? No one at all followed him. Unlike Abraham (at Sodom), Noah
didn’t voice one prayer for the people of his generation. God asks us to take
responsibility, not merely to save ourselves, but for others.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh81DEHnlbWwdcNETkRf6vVjO-kWkiRQU5EFoulBX3FSfbJQXaXpFGVWgtjc8v0WRtNVmwahfeBNWrjmGYEYCy-Wr1jgkquJ9AK1cDYVMJHAMRe9wBTVVSGUslZ7p9DUXYA6tvk-V2NXjBRzWu-BYV01DCDZNapnY4dkf31-4dKVRhVpQ4X2AVPkSOw-B8/s1600/MarilynneRobinson.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh81DEHnlbWwdcNETkRf6vVjO-kWkiRQU5EFoulBX3FSfbJQXaXpFGVWgtjc8v0WRtNVmwahfeBNWrjmGYEYCy-Wr1jgkquJ9AK1cDYVMJHAMRe9wBTVVSGUslZ7p9DUXYA6tvk-V2NXjBRzWu-BYV01DCDZNapnY4dkf31-4dKVRhVpQ4X2AVPkSOw-B8/s320/MarilynneRobinson.webp" width="213" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then Marilynne Robinson, in her book (<i>Reading Genesis</i>) coming out in 2 weeks, belabors the contrasts she detects between Gilgamesh and
other ancient flood stories, and the Genesis account of Noah. For them, the
gods are surprised and angry a handful of human survived. Importantly, after
God preserves Noah and his family, paired with the rainbow are a few essential
laws – which we forget when we’re giddy over the band of colors. God expects
righteousness – which ennobles us, doesn’t it? God, by offering a covenant,
affirms “His forbearance and loyalty. The value of humankind is affirmed” by
the covenant as well.</span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIW46mQvqwD3Q_bZTCWkElj879TEUYWVY-ntIz8VBR-_seCjm0Onp_spj0PlEfuwRolekwoi8ZBxLuZ0NFDTRqu55gmgl63eJM6-nsIyJRMs2cJmmbWWt4Kk9uVMPBMQopJTSqCqOoWb1yYfFHIav2CxYARQYCf1kZHA2HviHTIdoq3JB_YfbwfV0c9Cg/s1000/MarilynneRobinsonGenesis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="667" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIW46mQvqwD3Q_bZTCWkElj879TEUYWVY-ntIz8VBR-_seCjm0Onp_spj0PlEfuwRolekwoi8ZBxLuZ0NFDTRqu55gmgl63eJM6-nsIyJRMs2cJmmbWWt4Kk9uVMPBMQopJTSqCqOoWb1yYfFHIav2CxYARQYCf1kZHA2HviHTIdoq3JB_YfbwfV0c9Cg/s320/MarilynneRobinsonGenesis.jpg" width="213" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Clearly, this covenant expresses “God’s passionate
expectation of righteousness and also His loving faithfulness,” which are not
at odds with one another! Nothing remotely like this appears in the Babylonian
and other stories! Robinson rightly ties this deluge to that obvious truth that
disasters which obliterate life happen – but by giving those laws, “humankind
is a moral actor in the drama, not simply a victim.” <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our text isolates a glorious moment – just moments
before Noah gets drunk, and then gets mean by cursing one of his sons! Noah
does what God refuses to do: curse a beloved human being. His vicious recoil
ruins a crucial underlying theme Robinson reveals about those long genealogies:
they “preclude the idea that differences between groups could ever be of a
qualitative kind, deeper than the differences within a family.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho9EC6ZoCNPOqQC0FeCZCCq6goEYKUqObDw122w7ByMWEl6Tj5vKIuy_rRqFdc0JpM4PZ_WvxZb8qGsuSQ5tWSGgMcHQzB7rOQWJlw35WauTUJA0M_ZN14-x32eEAxufsJQixAV95XDo0DC6J2CugsCNEdm28KFnTYxUALAJCn3rO026RrpENwng0iHJM/s249/cimabue%20(2).PNG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="249" data-original-width="217" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho9EC6ZoCNPOqQC0FeCZCCq6goEYKUqObDw122w7ByMWEl6Tj5vKIuy_rRqFdc0JpM4PZ_WvxZb8qGsuSQ5tWSGgMcHQzB7rOQWJlw35WauTUJA0M_ZN14-x32eEAxufsJQixAV95XDo0DC6J2CugsCNEdm28KFnTYxUALAJCn3rO026RrpENwng0iHJM/s1600/cimabue%20(2).PNG" width="217" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> God promises never
again to flood the earth – but does a worldwide pandemic count, just a little?
The flood itself, and the covenant God makes here, reminds us that God’s
redemption isn’t merely human souls but all creatures, all of creation. St.
Francis understood our kinship with his brothers and sisters the birds, fish,
wolves, cattle, flowers and trees, and sang it in his Canticle and enacted it
by preaching to creatures.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> The
rainbow is an opening, I suspect, to talk about signs. Lots of religious people
love signs – but they see signs that maybe are suspect as divine in origin – and
then we miss the signs that really may be signs from God. Seeing a rainbow
really is a lovely reminder of God’s ultimate mercy. So are the trees, flowers
and birds, as Jesus pointed out in the Sermon on the Mount. Too many “signs”
people claim to notice are a bit self-indulgent, or what Bruce Waltke calls
“hunches.” You hear plenty of these from your people, a mere chance or
coincidence that folks anoint as God’s doing. No need to chide or mock them for
this. Society teaches this kind of bland theology.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoB-x-tVm9tNNwO80OO7SFDzYJdavUPWKGDEeF3eC2Rbhepjr2q-OVpD_1oG0hCkZESmoI-kg35cq39wWFPjnbLrMbQUEYYiO4gRoZQ32OUdeHTcINGviRzpgiwqprHgAbatcmiQZe20Q-ninuDFaRsMIyrtoeo6J-Gmz-KWk4tOoz2GrdiMxBZNyF-QY/s1280/DescendedIntoHell.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1158" data-original-width="1280" height="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoB-x-tVm9tNNwO80OO7SFDzYJdavUPWKGDEeF3eC2Rbhepjr2q-OVpD_1oG0hCkZESmoI-kg35cq39wWFPjnbLrMbQUEYYiO4gRoZQ32OUdeHTcINGviRzpgiwqprHgAbatcmiQZe20Q-ninuDFaRsMIyrtoeo6J-Gmz-KWk4tOoz2GrdiMxBZNyF-QY/s320/DescendedIntoHell.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">1 Peter 3:18-22</b>. “Spirits in prison”?
We see them all around us – and maybe in the mirror too! Fun to probe in a
sermon… but let’s ask instead, Is this a clue regarding “He descended into
Hell”? What was Jesus doing between Good Friday and Easter Sunday? This dogma
makes so much sense of so many things, from pre-Jesus inhabitants of earth, to
those in remote regions who’ve never heard of Jesus – or even those who reject
Jesus for darn good reasons, like mean, abusive or simply boring
representatives of Jesus. Robertson Davies wryly suggested in one of his novels
that hell must have “visible branch establishments, and I have visited quite a
few of them.” Jesus’ whole mission was to visit and make proclamation to
spirits in prison. We are shackled by so many things. No wonder in the
Eucharistic liturgy we say Jesus came “to release the captives.” That would be
us, you, me, the people I cringe over as they are captive to bad thinking or
crass ideologies – and frankly, everybody. Thank goodness.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDNamWGKcYyYiF-FIXoZLYOqJBRqSn6gr86tG8jGVzCW5f9p68SaiwrdJ08vbU6C-ByJxn9yNV614Hj3uQ-y37xEtFvOU0i5mNadfkL0G2a87T-NALImxJUdL8QjpGYYJVtkhMZdOXIaVYvHBTM6EL8wDamTpl6G5pG68vGdIpFE1I-_L3BEjJOVjYOsg/s320/NouwenBeloved.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="216" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDNamWGKcYyYiF-FIXoZLYOqJBRqSn6gr86tG8jGVzCW5f9p68SaiwrdJ08vbU6C-ByJxn9yNV614Hj3uQ-y37xEtFvOU0i5mNadfkL0G2a87T-NALImxJUdL8QjpGYYJVtkhMZdOXIaVYvHBTM6EL8wDamTpl6G5pG68vGdIpFE1I-_L3BEjJOVjYOsg/s1600/NouwenBeloved.jpg" width="216" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Mark 1:9-15</b>. Most of us will fixate on
the Gospel for Lent 1. In Mark, it’s direct, second person speech: not “this is
my beloved,” but “You are my beloved.” I like that. Personal, giving the
preacher the opportunity to invite people to be Jesus’ Body and hear God say
“You – yes, You! – are my beloved.” This whole category of being Beloved: Henri
Nouwen wrote a whole book on what this vision of your identity can do to
relieve agonies and instill joy and hope. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;">
Notice the vivid "the heavens were ripped apart" (which the
Greek literally means). Donald Juel reflected on this and observes that
"what is opened may be closed again; what is torn apart cannot easily
return to its former state." Remember the roof being ripped open in Mark 2
when the paralytic was lowered from above!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5wRDQVdDZZ8sCjh9t_GKmCh6kyKag9ypnpL3TV5Kxs2eTrFXEg8DX2yuZg3OQrMS5tLJRJAAvcISD97g9cc8z9WReXBpcLWebOwSBR5ASsWG_g20PfSfM-EVvHJqu90hX6Ubalo-Ir8sILBPYvwxvb5coHRkHM4MrIFasfIrCgddpps2Kt314S2Km7qg/s4032/JudeanDesertStGeorges.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5wRDQVdDZZ8sCjh9t_GKmCh6kyKag9ypnpL3TV5Kxs2eTrFXEg8DX2yuZg3OQrMS5tLJRJAAvcISD97g9cc8z9WReXBpcLWebOwSBR5ASsWG_g20PfSfM-EVvHJqu90hX6Ubalo-Ir8sILBPYvwxvb5coHRkHM4MrIFasfIrCgddpps2Kt314S2Km7qg/s320/JudeanDesertStGeorges.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> But
not for long, and not so folks can relax into the easy chair of being the
Beloved. The Spirit “immediately” (Mark’s Jesus is always in a big hurry, so
urgent!) “drove him out into the wilderness.” We have our drivennesses… The
wilderness could be parsed as the challenges we all face. But it’s a real place,
a zone, a time of testing. The Wadi Qelt, with St. George’s monastery hanging
perilously from the cliff above, is the theater for such high drama.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Krlc15SKyRcjXE1cmbCw6VzxCAw13tTI1hp92C3hjFCsSQRX5Pxw2tnNZHsDpmkcacXMLDKd1JmUanoFFo5cB8-9Ihl8SZ-xqPF9bSBedme2-yeblZ0c8AdX-QtysrW_9B-60XoGIHulKoM6G1-Cnp69mQvOy2xMrpFBytwlFJIRNbgn4uXzGrG-rjI/s1113/StJohnsBibleBaptism.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1113" data-original-width="962" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Krlc15SKyRcjXE1cmbCw6VzxCAw13tTI1hp92C3hjFCsSQRX5Pxw2tnNZHsDpmkcacXMLDKd1JmUanoFFo5cB8-9Ihl8SZ-xqPF9bSBedme2-yeblZ0c8AdX-QtysrW_9B-60XoGIHulKoM6G1-Cnp69mQvOy2xMrpFBytwlFJIRNbgn4uXzGrG-rjI/s320/StJohnsBibleBaptism.jpg" width="277" /></a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This moment dawns right after the Baptism.
Note how un-American the plot is. Instead of, after the Baptism, Jesus said
Wow, what a neat spiritual experience! I can’t wait to get home to tell mom!
Instead, a harrowing is to come. Probably, it was in that wilderness he heard
or fully comprehended for the first time his calling.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus was driven, but he chose to let
himself be driven. What would it mean for us, and our people, to see ourselves
as driven into a time of testing, of purifying the self, of shedding other
crutches and to rely for a time only on God? Fasting, yes. Shutting off
gadgets, yes. I like, in preaching, to suggest “Could be this, could be that,
could be another thing” – or all of the above. Let people pick up on what resonates,
or scurry off to discover their own thing to jettison for Lent.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> Old
Church hands might have their interest piqued in that Mark doesn’t do the three
boxing rounds of temptation with the devil we find in Matthew and Luke. Here,
he’s “with the wild beasts.” Sounds scary, maybe scarier than verbal jousting
with the devil. Leap off the temple? Easy to say No to that one. But a couple
of jackals growling and drooling behind me, or some predator bird swooping down
and pressing its talons into the back of my head? I bet your hurting people who
aren’t in denial totally get this scenario. The only way to survive such
assaults of doubts or self-recrimination or anxiety or grief or a restless
night is the recollection of the Baptism, being Beloved. Martin Luther, when
attacked by the devil, calmly resisted by saying “I am baptized.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif;"> And
then there’s this: “The angels waited on him.” The verb “wait” is always
theologically suggestive. We “wait” on the Lord, as in its takes time,
watching, expecting, not there yet, but coming. Did the angels wait on him in
this way? We also “wait” on the Lord, as in the way a waiter waits on a table,
serving, hosting, helping. What waiting service did the angels provide to
Jesus? Not food: he was fasting! Wiping his brow? Words or even better (since
they were angels) songs, choral anthems of encouragement and inspiration?
American piety has way too much sentimentality around angels. But here they
are, waiting on our Lord.<o:p></o:p></span></p>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6979325518476908426.post-57549051317039778702023-12-11T02:55:00.000-08:002024-02-14T18:47:59.054-08:00What can we say on Ash Wednesday?<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAgBHORDYlV4ib3O4G7TQmvbJvXPIYtx9wwL21AmrSdLM3UUNeqU6fU2ZbMifj1v0PCPWhGptbFl7RFk9M6Hqvlnt24bqQs_Ou2Hria0POO9YkcJrTuGY10UmXQVpnPr0KyefOv1Bnt_4/s524/martinsheen+%25281%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="524" data-original-width="349" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAgBHORDYlV4ib3O4G7TQmvbJvXPIYtx9wwL21AmrSdLM3UUNeqU6fU2ZbMifj1v0PCPWhGptbFl7RFk9M6Hqvlnt24bqQs_Ou2Hria0POO9YkcJrTuGY10UmXQVpnPr0KyefOv1Bnt_4/s320/martinsheen+%25281%2529.jpg" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;">Ash Wednesday. And it's Valentine's Day! Oh my. Will romantic outings diminish those who might otherwise come for a somber service? Will we who preach lunge toward something about Ashes & Love - that Christ is our true lover who courts us? Risky. It could be so very corny - and it lets the culture set the tone - always risky. And yet, the lover images, especially among medieval theologians, were powerful for centuries, prompting not giddy feelings but genuine penance and transformation.</span><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 12pt;"> I always tell myself and
fellow clergy that they don’t come for the homily. They come for the ashes. I still love the great reflection Martin
Sheen offered when interviewed by Krista Tippett: “How can we understand these
great mysteries of the church? I don’t have a clue. I just stand in line and
say Here I am, I’m with them, the community of faith. This explains the
mystery, all the love. Sometimes I’m just overwhelmed, just watching people in
line. It’s the most profound thing. You just surrender yourself to it.”</span><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHiTfnK7DkDvwG2aLx4-EEsmvVBmPpMouj960h5KJTHq25UCQ6kcVnQxuB_-Bl8ViWIHFqTy8R_0ijEOFu9v61Rlr703UkMNu-tozUjuI7CcVwwkrrEJQKs3mBtuBZBHKn3P6zmQw5F7muWvCP7z1Yq9tH0vNpY6286XLFpRHBBOoNJOEfqfDlcHhrUB8/s4032/JudeanDesertStGeorges.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHiTfnK7DkDvwG2aLx4-EEsmvVBmPpMouj960h5KJTHq25UCQ6kcVnQxuB_-Bl8ViWIHFqTy8R_0ijEOFu9v61Rlr703UkMNu-tozUjuI7CcVwwkrrEJQKs3mBtuBZBHKn3P6zmQw5F7muWvCP7z1Yq9tH0vNpY6286XLFpRHBBOoNJOEfqfDlcHhrUB8/s320/JudeanDesertStGeorges.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> I continue to commend some sort of Lenten fast, although it gets watered down into dieting or substituting beer for wine or whatever you gave up. Jesus fasted for his 40 days, and the saints we adore did the same. The location of his fasting: simply harrowing. Lisa and I visited the St. George's monastery that hangs perilously from a cliff overlooking the Wadi Qelt. It's hot, it's steep, and even today they warn you of brigands and carnivorous creatures in the area. 2 hours almost wore us out. Jesus did 2 hours 12 times daily for 40 days.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkyH-QFDNHcbD-eSoFFi_5hzaRVliEGJ8Ya0EHg-0-VO_dnYHlgJMUARWXuLwo_O-vvfLWBTQpO_kzpbo0nhaDp1E8a_59qoh2CcU2NaeWX_arxVlt-lbBNK_VIvYFNkxa4SYxhU4omHG2VG69tKxhmZnsOReQ_PKyoA7x8Biw9CZsiO-lhz-eZItJmCo/s499/ChrisGreenBeingTransfigured.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="328" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkyH-QFDNHcbD-eSoFFi_5hzaRVliEGJ8Ya0EHg-0-VO_dnYHlgJMUARWXuLwo_O-vvfLWBTQpO_kzpbo0nhaDp1E8a_59qoh2CcU2NaeWX_arxVlt-lbBNK_VIvYFNkxa4SYxhU4omHG2VG69tKxhmZnsOReQ_PKyoA7x8Biw9CZsiO-lhz-eZItJmCo/s320/ChrisGreenBeingTransfigured.jpg" width="210" /></a></div> I am enjoying and admiring Chris Green's new <i>Being Transfigured</i></span><span style="font-family: georgia;">. He confesses, as we all can, that "<span style="background: rgb(249, 249, 249);">my sense of sin is warped / There is nothing more sinful than what
we’ve said about sin, and what we’ve done in the name of our hatred of sin." How very "</span></span><span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; font-family: georgia;">Self-absorbed – and self-negating" our sense of sin can be. "</span><span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; font-family: georgia;">We’re nice but not kind, indulgent not
compassionate, permissive not forgiving." Our need isn't to try harder, but a miracle; we need to be released by a divine intervention. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: #f9f9f9; font-family: georgia;"> I think of my first adult life dog, Abigail, who loved to run in the woods of my rural parish. After she didn't come home one day, I finally found her - enmeshed in some old barbed wire somebody had used as a fence back in the day. The harder she struggled to get out, the more the barbs gashed her skin. I had to urge her to be very, very still, to trust me, so I could extricate her - and then her wounds required some healing. That's what Lent, and the whole Christian life is like.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="background-color: #f9f9f9;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGAeMmyQukLUy3zeRRlm3eKFvyp-FE0EIoidZHUrVnlb9X5SbFE4Gh58VWZ5aMxK9wWhMgSXWaTfEb9woyVIYeJwJHgMN5lsMIv_S6n1FVBxjAX65qhxaR2iOB0GTSdBu5vH7WaZcJqMo/s583/PlacherMark.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="583" data-original-width="398" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGAeMmyQukLUy3zeRRlm3eKFvyp-FE0EIoidZHUrVnlb9X5SbFE4Gh58VWZ5aMxK9wWhMgSXWaTfEb9woyVIYeJwJHgMN5lsMIv_S6n1FVBxjAX65qhxaR2iOB0GTSdBu5vH7WaZcJqMo/s320/PlacherMark.jpg" /></a></div> William Placher's terrific Mark commentary cites Alexander Schmemann ("Fasting makes us light, concentrated, sober, joyful, pure"), Macrina Wiederkehr ("Fasting is cleansing. It lays bare our souls. In the Divine Arms we become less demanding and more like the One who holds us. We hunger and thirst for justice, and holiness. We hunger for what is right. What hunger to be saints"), and St. Basil ("Fasting is to refrain from vice"). I'll ponder those for me, whether they worm their way into a sermon or not.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif;"> Our Psalm, the 51st, one of the church's historic "penitential Psalms," bears the weight of this day and season - although we might quibble with the unforeseen implication that David, having seized Bathsheba (the patron saint of #MeToo?), simply repents and expects cleansing - and we conclude all is well. What's the lesson in the ripple effects and lingering impact of our sin - even forgiven (by God) sin?<br /></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Matthew 6 is perfect yet terribly odd for
Ash Wednesday. Jesus tells us not to practice our piety visibly (v. 1), and not
to disfigure our faces but to wash them (v. 16) – on the very day we disfigure
our faces publicly. Nobody at my place though is showing off, sporting ashes
for the rest of the day. If anything, they’ll get some strange stares at the
store on the way home.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhue3hBQtOmMk3gqUz6bj6K4txOubHiUUCrjbqQDxv7zGdSy3srnqT6cODg5NKDgz1CfXw9XmzRnh9JpNlV8KJ-oo5l1NJpLapbvcYOfgdaJom3ERf-56VnXHhzdg0mG1bhnCbDW9mvnPA/s629/GrunewaldCrucifixion2+%25282%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="629" data-original-width="491" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhue3hBQtOmMk3gqUz6bj6K4txOubHiUUCrjbqQDxv7zGdSy3srnqT6cODg5NKDgz1CfXw9XmzRnh9JpNlV8KJ-oo5l1NJpLapbvcYOfgdaJom3ERf-56VnXHhzdg0mG1bhnCbDW9mvnPA/s320/GrunewaldCrucifixion2+%25282%2529.jpg" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">When I get home, I try to take some time to
linger before a mirror – to ponder that I have just been marked with the horror
and hope of Jesus’ cross. No hymn captures so thrillingly the paradox of this
horror and hope as Isaac Watts’s “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross.” We
“survey” the cross. We don’t just glance at it. The soldiers didn’t survey this
one. They’d seen plenty of crosses, and had no reason to think this was God.
All they saw was a dying, despised person – which was precisely what God was
hoping to achieve. More lines in that hymn bear reflection: “Sorrow and love
flow mingled down.” Onlookers saw tragedy, maybe justice mingled.</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYeQh9DqSboctPF-UmBt63044-WpO2l8tX6XWkmeLu-Yay312MfHPAEzLPsTU7cwsvPTqUC7CIJ9qpSL509ds_ZglHuM6_7zSsPnXwApxdW73_phVtouUNwRO-CldVOVFJcdLPEmMMlMM/s680/QueenElizabeth+%25281%2529.PNG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="583" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYeQh9DqSboctPF-UmBt63044-WpO2l8tX6XWkmeLu-Yay312MfHPAEzLPsTU7cwsvPTqUC7CIJ9qpSL509ds_ZglHuM6_7zSsPnXwApxdW73_phVtouUNwRO-CldVOVFJcdLPEmMMlMM/s320/QueenElizabeth+%25281%2529.PNG" /></a></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"> “Did e’er… thorns compose so rich a crown?”
At Elizabeth II’s coronation so long ago, the Archbishop of Canterbury placed St. Edward’s
Crown on her head. It was heavy, forged of 22 karat gold, with 444 precious
stones, aquamarines, topazes, rubies, amethysts, sapphires. She then knelt to
receive the body and blood of our Lord. Did she ponder Jesus’ very different
crown, its only ornaments those harsh thorns gashing his forehead, scalp and
temples?</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“My richest gain I count but loss.” Lent is
the season to reassess what has value, what doesn’t, how much we offer up to
God. Do we urge our people to embark on a fast? It’s not dieting. It’s not
being glum and feeling sorry for ourselves. It’s solidarity with those who
aren’t choosing to fast. It’s weaning ourselves from dependencies on things.
It’s an awakening to where our treasure is.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where are the “Take the Bible literally!”
people when it comes to “Do not lay up treasure on earth”? We prudently save,
we check our retirement portfolios, we pay off the house. No use castigating
the people, or ourselves. It’s a mark of our brokenness, our desperate need for
the true God. The ashes are lie that mark on Cain’s forehead. It’s guilt, and
grace.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioLd7Bb25V-zbevdcvzu0n3pgU-f84VWMyt9-y5i02a8psmVkkD0K8RT1ySWGfM5-mopRe1E7_whi1dzGeTdQlW97giRjZ2TK9b5n5aLK03_enIL-5R7YCrF92fUKa6_WBzWaOc2xSyAg/s2048/ShowerTag.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioLd7Bb25V-zbevdcvzu0n3pgU-f84VWMyt9-y5i02a8psmVkkD0K8RT1ySWGfM5-mopRe1E7_whi1dzGeTdQlW97giRjZ2TK9b5n5aLK03_enIL-5R7YCrF92fUKa6_WBzWaOc2xSyAg/s320/ShowerTag.jpg" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;">And so we invite people into (hopefully) a
growing devotion, a loosening of our grip on our treasures, an expansion of God
and grace into daily life. Here’s something we did a few years back. At the
Baptism of the Lord, we handed out shower tags (we got the idea, and even
purchased the tags from Adam Hamilton!), which you hang in the bath: “Lord, as
I enter the water to bathe, I remember my Baptism. Wash me by your grace, fill
me with your Spirit, renew my soul. I pray that I might live as your child
today, and honor you in all that I do.” </span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqgS-9eBv49NHVKvAZO_gMp3DP33Q5B7LxzgTAvo8OfxQsxfv1REHXkbYA7_eiqdHgYHzhtRUKh0BfB5W0SMij0fpRmw5eModY_g2HTn7MgOGpjXaJ2QE0QE1y179ofPgfNQsxCaTJ_sg/s2048/ClosetTag.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqgS-9eBv49NHVKvAZO_gMp3DP33Q5B7LxzgTAvo8OfxQsxfv1REHXkbYA7_eiqdHgYHzhtRUKh0BfB5W0SMij0fpRmw5eModY_g2HTn7MgOGpjXaJ2QE0QE1y179ofPgfNQsxCaTJ_sg/s320/ClosetTag.jpg" /></a></div> <span style="font-family: georgia;"> On Ash Wednesday, we picked up on Matthew 6
and handed out closet tags. Jesus said “Go into your closet to pray.” The Greek
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tameion</i> is an inner room of the
house, a storeroom, small, private – reminding us of the need for a dedicated
holy space at home. I love this – that if you go into your closet and pray, you
are doing God’s will! Picking up on other clothing images in Scripture, here’s
how that tag reads: “Jesus said, ‘Go into your closet and pray in secret; and
your Father will reward you.’ So pray. Prepare for your day with God. As you
dress, remember Romans 14:8, ‘Put on the Lord Jesus Christ,’ and Colossians
3:12, ‘Put on compassion, patience, forgiveness, love – and be thankful.
Whatever you do, do it in the name of the Lord Jesus.’”</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two more items while we’re on Matthew 6.
Jesus says “When you pray,” not “If you pray” – and he was assuming 3 set times
of prayer as was common Jewish practice then and now. When Will Willimon was
Dean of Duke Chapel, he told about a Muslim student who asked him, “Why don’t
the Christian students ever pray?” He obviously observed the 5 set daily times
for prayer in Islam, and was puzzled that he never ever saw Christians stopping
to pray. It’s a judgment call whether you can mention this to your people. I
think it’s compelling, and inviting – but some folks have such potent,
irrational anti-Muslim feelings that they’ll shut down on you.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then Jesus talks about “reward,”
shunning earthly reward, but implying quite clearly there are rewards, ultimate
rewards to the life of faith. I for one downplay this, remembering a very smart
college student who asked me if he could become a Christian if he didn’t
believe in eternal life. His angle was he wanted to follow Jesus just because
it was good, right, noble and true, not to secure any prize for himself. I
admire that – but quite clearly the Gospels and Epistles lay out for us
fabulous, unspeakably fantastic rewards, or ultimate realities, for those who
believe.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></i></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKoxCCFT-E6I5vgFcfC3HcvWKqaJguvEuUmED4MXEq8GvuGDRYWg0Fu1iI08uJlrjduIAAyBVdMsP8WQJCV6jZIifTZsGXVqHZpykstTo-sW0FYrorBGfeZs7Dt5k8io4Je_2tYOJhyV0/s1500/podcastpix.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKoxCCFT-E6I5vgFcfC3HcvWKqaJguvEuUmED4MXEq8GvuGDRYWg0Fu1iI08uJlrjduIAAyBVdMsP8WQJCV6jZIifTZsGXVqHZpykstTo-sW0FYrorBGfeZs7Dt5k8io4Je_2tYOJhyV0/s320/podcastpix.jpg" /></a></span></i></span></div><span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 12pt;"><i style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"> ** Check out my new podcast, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/maybe-im-amazed/id1497598414">Maybe I'm Amazed</a> - amazing conversations with amazing people who've done amazing things! Recent guests: Kate Bowler, David Wilkinson, Lillian Daniel, Chris Green - and earlier in the series, Civil Rights hero Dorothy Counts Scoggins, UNC basketball coach Roy Williams, 7 time NASCAR champion Jimmie Johnson, Walter Brueggemann, Amy-Jill Levine, and more!</span></i></span><p></p></div></div>James C. Howellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15895862367707509715noreply@blogger.com0